The Unnamed Emperor
by Byronic Heroine
Summary: Suzaku has a single, desperate wish: to be loved. When he receives a geass from a mysterious immortal named R2, he believes he's found the answer to his prayers. However, Suzaku's geass has its own set of problems... Semi-AU, Suzalulu/Luluzaku.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

"Who sent you?" the young man inquired calmly, even as he realized that his back was against the wall of the alleyway. He tossed a lock of raven hair away from his eyes with a small jerk of his head to survey his would-be captors with as much pride as he could muster.

"That's confidential," one of the two men trapping him countered, clutching a gun that was being shakily aimed at his target's heart. Even as he was being forced into a corner, the dark-haired man – still an adolescent really, he couldn't have been more than seventeen with his slight frame and smooth, pale skin – noted that there was a tremor in his voice, one that betrayed his reluctance. _Still green_, he thought, his lips twisting in what could have been a smile. _He hasn't killed before._

The captor's older companion, rolling his eyes, grumbled, "Crowley, we're not in an effing crime show. You can quit the theatrics. The guy has the right to know before we riddle him with bullets."

Crowley's Adam's apple bobbed as he readjusted his unsteady grip.

"The Geass Order," the older captor of the two said, watching carefully for a reaction.

The dark-haired youth blanched, his aura of indifference slipping away; that was not the answer he was expecting. "The Geass Order is dead," he spat vehemently, subconsciously clenching his hands into fists. He added bitterly to himself in a whisper that only he could hear, "I killed every last one of them."

"Some things never truly die," the older man said ominously, relishing his prey's agitation. "Actually, my previous answer was inaccurate. They now go by the name Order of Cornelia."

The cornered youth hissed. "Cornelia… to think she would go this far…"

His hunter dismissed the disconcerted mutterings with a wave of his hand and ordered flatly, "Crowley, kill him." He locked his eyes with his quarry's violet ones and smiled a grim assassin's smile. "Kill R2."

Purple eyes flashing, the young man threw back his head and laughed maniacally, an abrasive, dissonant sound that made Crowley bite his lip in discomfort.

"Kill me?" the man called R2 repeated mockingly, stifling a giggle. "Did the Geass Order –" he stopped to correct himself – "Order of Cornelia – really order you to kill me?"

"They said to bring you to them," the older captor said. "But they never specified dead or alive. I'm sure they'll be delighted when we go to them carrying your mangled body."

"Then the Order of Cornelia is a coalition of incompetent fools," R2 said scornfully. "You're wasting your time here." He took a few steps forward, now smiling in condescension.

"Stay back or I'll shoot!" Crowley squeaked, fingering the trigger.

"You know, you really shouldn't delve too deep into things you don't understand…" R2 cautioned, examining the quivering gun trained on his chest without concern. Before Crowley could react, he conjured up a hand grenade from beneath his shirt, released it, and threw it at his captors. "You could get hurt," he finished coldly.

Instead of an explosion, it emitted an odorless pink gas that instantly clouded the two captors' bodies. Crowley shrieked, his collaborator cursed, and R2 escaped into the night, wondering how long it would take for them to realize that it was just colored smoke.

* * *

><p>Suzaku Kururugi traveled over the freeway dangerously fast, his knuckles white as he gripped the handlebars of the motorcycle. He struggled to keep tears from blurring his vision; an accident was the last thing he needed right now. Biting his bottom lip to keep it from trembling, he focused his gaze straight ahead as though his life depended on it – which it probably did, as he accelerated to the point of tempting fate.<p>

_He'd scrubbed and scrubbed at the harsh red letters painted in an untidy scrawl on his gym shirt, but none of it made a difference. The words wouldn't go away. It was the only shirt he had, and all of the others provided by the school that usually sat in a neat pile in the boys' locker room had mysteriously disappeared. He certainly couldn't play basketball in his school uniform._

_ He walked out into the gymnasium, still wearing his black pants and overcoat with its gold filigree. "Sorry, but I'm going to sit out today," he told Coach Villetta, grimacing in apology._

_ She stared him down in a way that made him want to crawl into a corner. "Do you have an injury, Mister Kururugi?"_

_ "No, ma'am." He always called her ma'am. She reminded him of the drill sergeants he had to deal with at work._

_ "Are you unprepared?"_

_ Suzaku's face flushed red with shame; he wanted to keep the situation as vague as possible. "I have my clothes, ma'am, but –"_

_ "Then move your keister and get them on." The look in her eyes was dangerous._

_ And so he had changed into his gym clothes, refusing to let himself cry, and then gone back outside to meet the stares of his classmates wearing a shirt that was emblazoned with the crimson words "Jappy Go Home"…_

Suzaku's tears, which had been quivering restlessly on the rims of his eyes, finally spilled, barely touching his cheeks before being whipped away by the wind.

He couldn't let what had happened dangle in the air neglected. He needed someone to blame. He only pitied the students who had written the hateful words, pitied their narrow-mindedness and blind prejudice… and so he chose himself.

He reasoned that he was basically asking for it, enrolling in a Britannian school, fighting in the Britannian army. But the reason he'd made those choices in the first place was to attempt to change things, rid the world of that very same prejudice. It was a ridiculous and idealistic goal, he knew that, but the childish part of him dreamed of it somehow being accomplished.

Instead he'd gotten his own people to hate him as well; they felt like he'd betrayed them.

Hated by Britannians for being Japanese… hated by the Japanese for trying to be a Britannian… maybe he was a masochist.

But if he was, then why did he have such a desperate yearning to be loved?

* * *

><p>R2 ran, pumped his arms in time with his lengthy strides, gasped for breath; he knew he wasn't going to last much longer.<p>

As he streaked past bewildered civilians moving in hordes on the sidewalk, his eyes darted back and forth, assessing his options, searching for an escape.

He looked briefly over his shoulder to find that the mercenaries were after him, as enraged as ever, and gaining fast with their much superior stamina. He cursed under his breath, knowing that the situation would soon call for something reckless.

His salvation came to him in the form of a student stopping at a street corner for a red light, sitting on a motorcycle that had enough room for two.

He made one last, desperate sprint, and in an implausible aerobic display made feasible by the adrenalin coursing through his veins, he was atop the motorcycle in front of the hapless young man, gibbering something along the lines of, "Sorry, but I'll be taking control of your vehicle for a while."

* * *

><p>Suzaku suddenly found himself yielding to a lunatic who had done the unthinkable and seized his beloved bike for his own.<p>

"What the fu –!," he spluttered before being cut off.

"Yes, there are bad men chasing me, they've got guns, and I'm probably initiating a car chase," the hijacker said dismissively. "It's all dreadfully cliché. Trust me, this isn't what I wanted to resort to, but I really don't see any other options at the moment, do you?"

Suzaku only gaped at him in outrage, his mouth refusing to close.

"I can't guarantee your life from here on out," the stranger continued. "Now's your chance to get as far away from me as possible. I don't want to drag you into a mess that isn't yours."

Suzaku made a strained noise in the back of his throat. Finally finding his voice, he retorted, "Like _hell_ I'm leaving! This is… this is my _bike_!" It was the only thing he could think of; his mind was currently short-circuiting, unsure how to respond to the madman who was now revving the engine.

R2 stared at Suzaku as though he were observing a dangerous but particularly unintelligent animal. "All right, then…" he said dubiously. And then surged forward at a speed that made Suzaku's head snap back like a broken marionette's.

Eyes squinting ahead as he dodged much slower passersby, earning a great deal of affronted profanity, R2 commanded, "Keep looking back to make sure they're not following us."

"I don't even know what they look like!" Suzaku protested.

"The two sprinting men with the intent to kill visible in their every action."

"Ah." What else was there to say to that? Suzaku crossly complied with the stranger's order, his eyes alighting on said sprinting men. They did look quite furious. "They're still after us, but they're just on foot," he reported, wondering as he spoke why he had said "us". And then, as soon as the words were out of his mouth, they were suddenly fifty meters closer.

"What in the…" he breathed. They had moved instantaneously from one place to another; he was sure he wasn't hallucinating. But _how_…

Feeling ridiculous – and more than slightly panicked – he relayed, "I know this is going to sound insane, but it looks like they just _teleported_…"

R2 hissed, feeling his earlier rash confidence scatter with the wind. He uttered an unfamiliar word, one that Suzaku strained to hear. "_Geass_…" Though English was Suzaku's second language, he felt that his grasp of it was quite proficient. It was unusual for him to come across a word he didn't know the meaning of. No, he felt like this word was different. It possessed an air of… _mystery_… he had a feeling that only a select few knew of it.

Before he had a chance to ask what it meant, the hunted man turned sharply into a narrow side street and coaxed – no, _coerced_ – the motorcycle to accelerate to its limits, in an attempt to shake off his pursuers. Suzaku heard him muttering to himself, caught bits and pieces of what sounded to him like nonsense, and there was that word again: "Geass… ward of absolute suspension… Rolo was the same… but there's a limit… just get out of range…"

The two men vanished, only to reappear alarmingly close.

"Um, sir…" Suzaku began uneasily, unsure how to address the man driving his motorcycle like a maniac. _Sir? Why sir? He's the same age as you!_ he thought to himself irately.

"R2," the hijacker corrected.

"R2. They're closer… they're teleporting again. Or Geassing. Or whatever the hell it is they're doing to jump from one place to another like that…" He felt the first traces of hysteria creep into his tone but instantly suppressed it before it could damage his judgment, a reflex he'd honed through merciless military training. He simultaneously found himself wondering who on earth would name their child R2. It sounded like the beginning of a serial number, not the name of a human being. But it could just be a code name, he reasoned. He realized that he really knew nothing about the dark-haired youth being chased by armed men who had seemingly supernatural abilities. Nothing at all…

"Actually, they're altering our perception of time," R2 clarified, smirking as he heard Suzaku choke in disbelief behind him. "Keeping us frozen where we are while they gain ground, so it looks to us like they're traversing large distances instantaneously. It's really quite ingenious," He was frighteningly calm, with a trace of detached fascination.

Feeling as though his intelligence was being insulted, Suzaku indignantly exclaimed, "You expect me to believe that pile of –"

The motorcycle was suddenly stationary – when had R2 stopped driving? – and Suzaku felt a gloved hand clamped over his mouth, silencing his shout prematurely, and the cold, unflinching metal of a revolver on his temple. He couldn't turn his head, but from the sound of the brief struggle to his left, he inferred with a sinking feeling that R2 was in the same very compromising position.

"You didn't think I brought Crowley along for his skill with a gun, did you?" the older assassin rasped, his breath hot and pungent against the back of Suzaku's neck.

Crowley, apparently not hearing the slight directed at him, stifled a groan as R2 ferociously bit down on his fingers and stammered, "Glovitz! What do I do with him?"

"Throw him against the wall, and make sure he stays there," Crowley's companion commanded. "If he tries anything, use your Geass." Angling his mouth so that only Suzaku could hear, he added threateningly, "You hear that, Eleven? Try anything funny and you're frozen… and you might not ever thaw out."

Suzaku bristled at the racial slur; it should have been rendered obsolete when Japan had reclaimed its independence from Britannia over a century ago. But more immediate was the usage of that word once again. He'd heard it once, and now it was being thrown around every which way. "Use your Geass," Glovitz had said… was R2 actually serious when he had been prattling on about their perception of time being altered? Suzaku was a grounded man with a good head on his shoulders, and for the most part didn't take superstition seriously. He took comfort in normalcy and routine. For multiple people to suddenly talk about the existence of a paranormal power, whatever it was called, was a little more than he could handle.

But how else could his abrupt capture be explained?

His musings were brutally interrupted as he was hurled against a cold brick wall next to R2, who had already assumed the grim face of defeat. Two gun barrels were pointed their way, and Suzaku was possessed by the urge to plead, "This is a mistake! I'm not involved!" He suppressed the idea in disgust. He'd chosen to help R2 knowing full well the consequences that the decision might bring, and he wasn't about to abandon him like a coward. So went his altruistic moral code, one that he'd established to atone for his sins of seven years before…

Suddenly Suzaku felt a hand on his shoulder; he was whipped around and found himself facing R2, feeling as though those blazing amethyst eyes were examining his very soul. "Understand that this is necessary to seal the contract," R2 murmured.

He took Suzaku's face in his pale, slender hands and pressed their mouths together.

What was supposed to have been "What contract?" came out instead as "Wh–mmmphg!" Suzaku felt his face flush hotly when those soft lips touched his, and found that he couldn't pull away as R2 stubbornly held him in place.

As he slowly grasped the situation in its entirety – he was being kissed by a stranger who in the five minutes he'd known him had proven to be insane… and happened to be a _man_… in front of two assassins out to kill them – the blush swiftly crept all the way to the tips of his ears.

"Well isn't that just _adorable_," Glovitz cooed sardonically. "Crowley, shoot the fags and be done with it. I'm tiring of this chase."

Suzaku heard the click of the safety latch, and suddenly he felt a primal, all-consuming need to _live_. He hated his life, but he didn't want to lose it… he didn't want to die…

_I don't want to die!_

Whiteness.

His surroundings disappeared, and suddenly there was nothing there but whiteness, and him, floating in it without gravity there to hold him down.

_"You wish to make a contract?"_

That voice… it took a moment to place, but Suzaku recognized it. R2's voice.

But he was nowhere to be seen. There was just Suzaku, and that colorless nothingness.

"What sort of contract?" Suzaku demanded in bewilderment, speaking into the void. He began to wonder if he was dead. Was death an endless white abyss?

_"A power that is yours to command however you wish."_

"What kind of power?" Suzaku asked in suspicion.

A light, tinkling laugh echoed through the void. _"Whatever it decides to be."_

After a moment of contemplation suspended in the nothingness, Suzaku had a revelation. "This… _this_ is Geass, isn't it." He said it not as a question but as a statement of fact.

_"Correct."_ The voice was amused, but there was an undercurrent of surprise in its tone. It hadn't expected Suzaku to know that much.

"A contract has two sides. What will you ask from me in exchange for this… power?"

_"A single, simple wish, which will make itself apparent as time sees fit."_

The voice sounded wistful, sad, and Suzaku found the way it had worded its request strange in a way he couldn't quite place. He was hesitant to accept any sort of contract, supernatural or otherwise, when he didn't know what was expected from him in return. But he reasoned that if he really was dead, he had nothing to lose.

"Then… this Geass I do solemnly accept!" Suzaku cried.

The words served as a trigger, to what Suzaku didn't know; his stomach lurched as he was overcome with the sensation of falling an impossibly huge distance. He was in a tunnel of sorts, a column of rich, sapphire blue. Veins of every conceivable color weaved themselves into it like a great multihued tapestry, hissing and crackling as they traversed its immeasurable length. Suzaku suddenly felt very, very small, surrounded by something infinitely larger than he was, than any human being was. At that moment he felt like he was falling past fibers of the universe itself.

Images began to flash before his eyes, switching from one to another almost too fast for him to absorb: Two parallel gray disks, inconceivably vast, between which the cosmos stretched out into time without end; pure white feathers scattered before his vision, and then he was looking at an immense crowd of people dressed in the garb of an ancient, near-forgotten time, their foreheads bearing a bizarre sigil in the shape of a bird taking flight; then… was that _Jupiter_? Yes, there was the telltale red spot of a centuries-old raging storm. He saw what looked like a temple floating in the sky, white columns against the backdrop of a fiery sunset…

…And then he was wrenched back into the present, still cornered against a wall in a deserted side street, and still very much alive.

And his lips still pressed against R2's.

Perhaps sensing Suzaku's acute embarrassment, R2 broke away from the kiss, wearing a faint smile. Just as Suzaku began to wonder whether what had just happened had even been real, R2 said softly, "A contract has been made."

The sound of a gunshot reverberated through the alleyway.

R2's violet eyes bulged as his mouth opened and closed wordlessly; he looked down at the crimson spot blooming over his chest and croaked, "How inconvenient."

Suzaku felt his insides twist sickeningly as he watched R2 stumble backwards, watched him fall slowly, gracefully, his back arched, with as much dignity as he possibly could; he watched that dignity crumble away as R2 landed in muddy gravel that crunched spitefully under his weight and coated his back with filth, mocking him in his last rattling breaths. His eyes, now glazed over with the shroud of death, gazed sightlessly into nothingness. Blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth, gushed out of his mortal wound and accumulated in an unbelievably large pool under his lifeless, broken body; there was a dusting of it on Suzaku's cheek. When he reached up slowly to touch his face it came off on his hand, warm and sticky, and he suddenly doubled over, on the verge of vomiting. He found himself crying for a man he didn't know; he cried for a life unfulfilled, viciously cut short with the simple pull of a trigger.

"What about the Eleven?" Crowley asked.

Glovitz, smiling smugly at the death wrought at his hands, switched his focus to a trembling, weeping Suzaku. "What's the matter, kid? You've never seen death before?"

Suzaku _had_ seen death before. It was an inevitable part of being in the military. But R2 had been… _different_, somehow. So vibrant, so full of vitality; the vividness of that subtle smile, his manic intensity as he'd struggled to escape his hunters… how could such an overwhelming abundance of _life_ just suddenly _die_, vanish forever?

Glovitz, adjusting his aim, said, "You're next."

No! He wanted to _live_. _Needed_ to live. For R2, if not for anything else.

"You know, I really don't appreciate the word 'fag,'" a voice said in irritation. Suzaku's heart might as well have stopped as he realized whom it belonged to.

"What?" Glovitz choked out, true fear manifesting in his face for the first time. Crowley wailed and crossed himself, the motion at odds with his occupation.

R2 pushed himself onto his feet, swaying a little before he planted them firmly on the ground. Eyes narrowed, he began to walk towards the two mercenaries, who shook as though they were seeing a ghost… which they pretty much were. "It's a coarse and ignorant term," he chastised, as he stopped inches in front of them and ran his fingers down Glovitz's cheek, leaving a moist trail of blood in their wake. "Worthy of two coarse and ignorant men like yourselves," he finished callously, delighting in the squeak that escaped the seasoned killer's throat.

"You're dead," Glovitz wheezed, beads of sweat trickling down his face.

R2 snorted. "Do I look dead to you? Besides, you said it yourself…" He smiled cruelly and quoted, "Some things never truly die." He examined the quaking assassins in disgust. "Now what am I going to do with you two?"

"Please… spare us," Crowley sniveled, even though R2 didn't possess any obvious weapon.

"I'm not going to kill you, you spineless waste of flesh," R2 snapped, repulsed by how pathetic the two men had become. "Putting an end to your sorry existence is much too kind. No… I'll let you crawl back alive to your Order of Cornelia." He knelt in front of them and placed a blood-spattered hand on each one's forehead. Smirking wickedly, he added, "But first I'll break your minds."

There was a pressure behind R2's eyes, a pull between his shoulder blades; and suddenly the mercenaries were screaming, curling into themselves with horror, trying in vain to rid themselves of the shock images R2 was streaming directly into their respective consciousnesses. R2 didn't know what they were seeing; he had simply willed whatever visions and memories haunted them the most to surface to the forefront of their minds, twisting them until they snapped.

When they had been reduced to cowering in the dirt, curled into the fetal position, he spat, "Leave, and don't come back."

As soon as they were able to regain their footing they hastily complied, whimpering and stumbling away with absolutely no intention of returning.

"Now then…" Smiling in satisfaction, R2 turned around to find Suzaku, who had stood frozen the entire time, staring at him with something that was not quite incredulity and not quite terror, but something in between.

"What… what _are_ you, R2?" Suzaku demanded shakily. "You're not human."

R2, known in a different lifetime as Lelouch vi Britannia, replied, "Why, I'm an immortal, of course. And I've just given you a gift called Geass."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>: In order to avoid any confusion, I'll make this clear right away. All of the events of Code Geass and Code Geass R2 still happened. They just happened without Suzaku. Suzaku is living in Japan 150 years after these events, and though the world has reached peace in the general sense thanks to Lelouch's efforts, prejudice is still inevitable. Britannians still live in Japan - they couldn't exactly all just disappear after Japan was liberated - and some still feel that what they see as simply Area 11 rightfully belongs to them. The result is racial tension and making poor Suzaku cry.

And as to how Lelouch, aka R2, became immortal... well, that'll become clear later on...

And the fic's rated T for now, because though I'm supremely tempted to submit to my inner fangirl and drift into M territory, I want to take time to build on Lelouch and Suzaku's relationship and make it complicated and genuinely loving. Not to mention actually having a plot. Those gratifying scenes of an intimate nature will come later, I promise! ^0^


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Suzaku knew, when he'd been floating in that white nothingness and had fallen through that column of otherworldly color and beauty, that he was accepting a mysterious and supernatural power called Geass. But hearing R2 speak it aloud gave it entirely new depth, made the contract solid and incontrovertible.

However, at this point, he was much more preoccupied with the glaring red bullet wound on R2's chest.

"An immortal…" Suzaku whispered. Geass and paranormal contracts and eternal life… his head was beginning to ache something fierce.

"I believe we've established that," R2 said dryly. "Would you like me to get shot again just to make sure?"

"N-no!" Suzaku stammered sharply, still haunted by the sight of R2 falling to the ground as his life left him, the feel of his warm blood spattering his cheek.

R2 sensed that he had traversed some hidden boundary, one that ought not to be crossed. "Sorry… I shouldn't joke about things like that," he said softly.

Suzaku squinted at him in surprise; those were the first words he'd heard from R2 that were neither sarcastic nor spiteful. He felt that he ought to say something; there were so many questions he still needed to ask… but before he could begin his interrogation, R2's knees buckled. Suzaku bounded forward to catch him; he didn't want him to face the indignity of falling into the mud once again.

R2 found himself landing in Suzaku's arms, and looked up to find that his face was creased in genuine concern. He couldn't remember the last time someone had looked at him like that; it made the corners of his lips curve upward slightly into the subtlest of smiles. "You don't need to worry," he said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. "Regenerating just requires a lot of energy, that's all…" His mouth stopped moving and went slack as he succumbed to sweet, blank darkness.

* * *

><p>As Suzaku drove his motorcycle in the direction of Ashford Academy with an unconscious R2 draped about his shoulders, he wondered what the hell he thought he was doing.<p>

He told himself that he was just taking R2 to his dorm room so that the immortal could clean up, rid himself of the blood that encrusted his upper body, and get a fresh set of clothes.

_And then what?_ the infuriating voice called logic disputed.

It was growing late, and the man was exhausted. Suzaku would let him spend the night, like any decent human being would, out of basic hospitality.

_And then what?_

Suzaku didn't feel like thinking that far ahead.

_Let him become your tenant? _

He didn't have anywhere else to go.

_You're too soft._

Those men would have shot him if R2 hadn't intervened.

_He was the reason you got tangled up with them in the first place! You're just trying to act honorably to atone for…_

"Shut up!" Suzaku yelled, his voice caught behind the lump in his throat.

"Who're you talking to?" a different voice asked groggily from behind him.

"Nobody," Suzaku bit back, wincing at how defensive and sullen he sounded.

"Yes, he does make good company," R2 said wryly.

Suzaku sighed in defeat. "I was talking to myself. Happy?"

"Ecstatic."

They traveled another few miles in silence before R2 said slowly, in a tone that completely lacked its former biting cynicism, "You know, in the short time we've known each other we've already encountered a close brush with death… and I only just fully realized that I don't even know your name. If we're to be bound by this contract –"

"Suzaku."

R2 blinked the sleep out of his eyes. "What?"

"My name is Suzaku."

"Suzaku," R2 repeated, tasting the name. He liked the way it rolled off of his tongue, in a way that was purely, uniquely Japanese. At the same time he found it bittersweet, nostalgic… it made him think of rebellions and masks and a different life that was long gone.

He shook off the feeling and asked, "So, Suzaku… where exactly are you taking me?"

"My school," Suzaku answered, finally feeling entirely certain about his decision. "I have a dorm room there. You can wash that blood off of you, and I'll lend you some of my clothes."

R2 felt unexpectedly touched by the gesture, and contented himself with feeling the wind tickle his face as he readjusted his grip on Suzaku for balance, wrapping his arms around his waist.

Until Suzaku asked, "Why were those men chasing you?"

R2 stiffened and unintentionally squeezed the breath out of him as his hold tightened.

Searching for air, Suzaku gasped, "Sorry…. It isn't any of my business…"

"It is your business," R2 replied more forcefully than he'd intended. "I got you caught up in all of this and put your life in danger. You deserve to know –" He abruptly clamped his mouth shut as he finally caught a glimpse of their destination.

"We're here," Suzaku announced, attempting to fill the silence that R2 had inexplicably left behind. He looked behind him to find that his violet eyes were glistening with unshed tears.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his heart quickening with worry.

"This… is Ashford," R2 breathed. He blinked away his tears, but couldn't keep his eyes from widening in wonder, becoming distant as he struggled to recall a near-forgotten past.

"Yes," Suzaku responded after an indecisive pause. He wondered why R2 had suddenly become so emotional. Maybe… no, the idea was too strange to even consider…

"I went here as a student," R2 murmured, confirming Suzaku's wild suspicion. "A long time ago. And…" His voice trailed off.

"And?" Suzaku prompted gently.

R2 shook his head, banishing the memories back to the farthest reaches of his mind. "And nothing."

* * *

><p>Suzaku laid sprawled on his back atop his bed, staring at the ceiling, as he listened to the soothing sound of running water emanating from the bathroom. But at the moment it was anything but soothing. A jumble of thoughts clouded his mind; each individual question screamed for attention, coalescing in a deafening cacophony of indecision and bewilderment. He had more questions than answers, and it aggravated him to no end. He wondered how R2 had come to be immortal. Why he was being chased by men with murderous intent. It all came together with one word: Geass. Geass was the root of everything that had happened tonight, of that Suzaku was sure. Exactly what sort of contract was now binding him and R2 together? And what sort of Geass had he been granted? He didn't even know that much.<p>

His ruminations were interrupted by a cloud of steam wafting out of the opened bathroom door. R2 broke through the mist shaking droplets of water out of his dark hair, entirely naked save for a small white towel wrapped around his waist. It was of course at that moment that their earlier kiss rose to the forefront of Suzaku's mind. He allotted himself a few seconds to stare at R2's lean, sleek body before averting his eyes, his face coloring.

R2 looked down at the great deal of skin he had exposed and inferred Suzaku's thoughts. "Look, about before…" he began, seating himself at the edge of the bed as he eyed Suzaku carefully. "That was a way of connecting our consciousnesses, to ensure that your Geass was properly transmitted… nothing more. It was completely platonic."

Suzaku nodded curtly in acknowledgement, and then steered the conversation in a different direction by demanding, "What _is_ my Geass? You still haven't told me. Can I alter your perception of time now or what?"

R2 chuckled. "There's two things you should know. The first is that, as the immortal who initiated our contract, your Geass has no effect on me. The other is that not all Geass are the same. Altering one's perception of time – the ward of absolute suspension – is just one of many different possible powers."

"So what's mine?" Suzaku pressed, beginning to feel impatient.

Smiling enigmatically, R2 replied, "I'll let you find that out for yourself."

"How am I supposed to do that if I don't know how to summon it?"

"You'll know when the time is right."

Suzaku sighed in frustration. "That's supposed to be an answer?"

"Absolutely. Now are you going to continue to let me sit around practically naked, or do you have some clothes that I can borrow? If you don't mind my asking."

"What? Oh, um… yeah…" Suzaku stuttered, suddenly incoherent. He opened a drawer and rummaged around until he pulled out a white v-neck tee and worn flannel pants. "Hopefully this'll fit," he mumbled, tossing them R2's way.

"These are pajamas," R2 pointed out.

Suzaku caught the uncertainty in R2's tone and blurted, "You can't possibly think that I'd let you go back out there! Not after everything that's happened to you, not in your condition! You're spending the night here whether you want to or not!" He finished slightly out of breath and instantly felt embarrassed by his impassioned outburst.

"What condition?" R2 demanded in exasperation. "Suzaku, I'm _fine_…"

"Don't try to talk your way out of it! I…" Suzaku trailed off as he stopped to comprehend what R2 had just said. He looked at R2's bare chest, looked properly, and realized that the bullet wound had not only healed completely, but was gone. Vanished. As if it had never existed.

Suzaku had seen R2 die and then come back to life: dead one minute, alive the next. It was just that simple. But that didn't make it easy to accept. Seeing R2 fully healed finally seemed to clinch the fact that he was something beyond human, beyond the constraints of aging and the passage of time.

Suzaku raised a quivering hand and placed it lightly against R2's chest, seeming surprised when his fingers met actual flesh. He left it there, fingers splayed, and felt R2's heart throb against his palm – strong, steady, _alive_. It was no illusion.

R2 bit his lip as he watched Suzaku close his eyes and lose himself in that pulsing rhythm, a celebration of life. Any sort of witty remark that he might have spoken aloud died on his tongue as he was filled with an unnamable _something_, strange but not unpleasant. He only heard himself murmur once again, "Suzaku, I'm fine."

Suzaku's eyes fluttered open, and he quickly removed his hand, refusing to meet R2's gaze directly. "Sorry," he muttered, and he was suddenly moving, pacing the room, snatching up a towel for himself, anything for an excuse to avoid those softly questioning violet eyes.

Practically tripping into the bathroom, he hurriedly shut the door behind him, stripped, and plunged into a shower of icy water. He winced at the initial shock, but fought the temptation to twist the faucet. It brought him back to his senses, awoke him from whatever sort of trance he had been in a few moments before.

He was alert enough now to realize in hindsight that he had caught a glimpse of something between R2's shoulder blades, a tattoo of sorts. Colored a deep cherry red, about as wide as the length of his hand, it vaguely resembled a bird spreading its wings. It had seemed familiar somehow… it wasn't until Suzaku shut off the faucet that he realized where he had seen it before. Floating in that otherworld, he'd seen it painted on the foreheads of a mysterious ancient civilization as the contract was being sealed.

Suzaku sighed as he hunched over the sink in front of the mirror, massaging his temples. Geass, Geass, and more Geass. It always came back to Geass…

* * *

><p>When Suzaku finally emerged from the bathroom after evading a near-migraine, it was to find R2's back to him as he stared at his own reflection in the window, wearing, of all things, Suzaku's school uniform.<p>

Suzaku opened his mouth to protest but stopped himself as he saw R2's facial expression mirrored in the window. It was a face made pensive, thoughtful, by a ghost of a memory. Beneath that was a melancholy yearning – a longing to live once again within those recollections of a better, more peaceful time. Suzaku could perceive all of it, though he couldn't explain how, and found himself filled with a peculiar sadness of his own.

R2 ran his hands slowly down the smooth front of the smart black jacket, fiddled with the golden buttons on his collarbone, and found phantom names resting on his lips, begging to be spoken aloud… Milly… Rivalz… Shirley… he turned and realized that Suzaku had come out of the bathroom, was now staring at him with… was it pity? He shook off the reminiscences once more, cursing himself for being so sentimental. Looking so weak…

"Sorry," he said quickly, forcing a sheepish smile. "I was just acting on impulse. This uniform brings back memories. They really haven't changed it at all since I've been here…"

"And how long ago was that?" Suzaku asked softly.

R2 flinched at the question, and now he was the one avoiding the other's gaze. He dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands and stared at the floor.

"How long, R2?" Suzaku reiterated more urgently, pressing for an answer.

R2 stared him in the eye and answered in a voice that was barely audible, "One hundred and fifty years."

The words were a blow to Suzaku, that was for certain, but he was able to remain strangely calm. "Ah… I see," he said in as neutral a tone as he could. "So that would make you… what? A hundred and sixty-seven years old?"

"A hundred and sixty-eight," R2 corrected, the corners of his mouth twitching. "I'm rather surprised at how well you're taking this…"

"It's pretty easy to take compared to seeing you rise from the dead," Suzaku retorted.

R2 smiled almost imperceptibly. "Fair enough." He turned to face the window once more, observed himself for a few seconds, and then whipped his head around to look at Suzaku with the face of someone who had just conceived a brilliant idea. "You know… I look good in this uniform."

Suzaku noticed with some amount of irritation that he did. It went nicely with his ink-dark hair, at the same time complimenting his flawless alabaster skin. And it made his already striking amethyst eyes stand out even more, like two radiant violet flames. "Yes, I suppose you do," he replied, wondering why he sounded so… _shy_.

"No, I mean _really_ good," R2 stressed, staring at Suzaku meaningfully.

"Yeah… okay."

R2 rolled his eyes toward the ceiling as though demanding of the heavens why Suzaku was being so thick. "Suzaku, I look _amazing_ in this uniform!"

"All right, I _get_ it!" Suzaku snapped, his patience dwindling down to nothing. "You don't have to keep…" Then, "Oh," as he finally caught the hint. He groaned and exclaimed incredulously, "You can't be serious!"

"I am completely serious," R2 said, smirking in satisfaction. "Just think about it for a minute. Hiding in plain sight – it's the oldest trick in the book. If the Order of Cornelia's minions are still after me, the last place they'll look is a Britannian public school."

Suzaku gave him a look similar to the one he'd worn when R2 had leaped onto his motorcycle.

"It's decided then," R2 proclaimed gleefully, clapping his hands together. "I'll apply for enrollment tomorrow."

"_Nothing_ is decided!" Suzaku objected. "R2…"

"Good night, Suzaku." R2 yawned right on cue and made to lay down on the floor.

R2's imminent return to student life forgotten – at least for the moment – Suzaku said in a warning tone, "Oh, no you don't. You take the bed; you need it way more than I do. I'll take the floor."

"I'm perfectly fine down here," R2 remonstrated. "You can have your bed."

"You're _not_ fine! You're recuperating from _death_!"

"I _am_ fine. You saw for yourself before, didn't you?"

"R2…" Suzaku struggled to keep his tone level. "_Move_."

R2 replied in a manner that was completely at odds with his one hundred and sixty-eight years, "_Make_ me."

Suzaku grabbed the front of R2's – no, _his_ – uniform with one hand, and scooped up R2's slim legs in the other. In one swift, fluid arc, he hoisted him clean off the ground and placed him firmly onto the mattress.

R2 gaped at him, clearly affronted. "Typically, people with Geass contracts are _not_ supposed to manhandle their immortals."

Suzaku stood over him and rejoined, "I believe I just did."

R2 exhaled noisily and groused, "Fine. You win."

Which is how Suzaku found himself resting on a makeshift bed of spare blankets and chair cushions, and R2 found himself in an extremely comfortable bed wearing slightly oversized but equally comfortable pajamas.

Suzaku turned off the lights and arranged himself among the motley collection of pillows as best as he could. After laying in silence for an indeterminable amount of time, he had to ask out of stifling curiosity, "Now will you tell me what my Geass is?"

R2 responded drowsily, "No. You'll just figure it out eventually."

Knowing that it would be impossible to extract an answer, Suzaku aborted the topic. And then he asked hesitantly, "What _is_ Geass? I don't mean the power itself, exactly. I mean… where did it come from? What is it… _made_ of?"

R2 smiled under the concealment of darkness and mused, "What indeed?" Then he finally submitted to the beckoning fingers of deep and impregnable sleep.

Suzaku heard the sound of his soft, steady breathing and exclaimed, "You've got to be joking! No one falls asleep _that_ fast!"

He stood up and switched on the lamp resting on his bedside table to find that R2 was undeniably fast asleep.

His lips were curved into a peaceful smile, his hair fanned out on the pillow encircling his head like a dark halo. Suzaku's hand reached out seemingly of its own accord and gently stroked those lustrous locks, rubbed silky wisps between calloused fingers.

His eyelids were like delicate eggshells, milky white marbled with thin purple veins. And those eyelashes… they were like a girl's, thick and black and impossibly long…

Suzaku snatched away his hand as though he had been burned and wondered for the umpteenth time what the hell he thought he was doing before shutting off the lights and following R2's example.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>: Well... this is my first fanfiction, and I was initially very nervous about what would happen once this was publicly posted. But I want to thank those who've read this for their incredibly encouraging feedback, and making my first experience as an author on a very positive one. I will try my best to make this the best fic I could possibly write, for your guys' sake. Thank you so much!

New chapters should be posted at fairly regular intervals of a week or so, during the summer at least. That's a rough estimate; it could be less if I'm feeling particularly inspired and/or writing a fun scene, or more if I hit the dreaded writer's block. But whatever happens, I will pull through and finish this! I have the entire story in my head from start to finish; it's just a matter of getting it all out in actual intelligible words. So I would be very grateful if you stayed with it until the end!

Until next time,

Byronic Heroine ^-^

P.S. I apologise for the non-existent transitions in the last chapter. I was confused because the extra spaces between certain paragraphs that I had on the Word Document version of the story didn't appear when I posted it here! But I've figured out how to insert that horizontal ruler thing, and it's become my new best friend. I went back and fixed the last chapter too. Sorry again; I'm pretty new to this, and I'm still learning my way around! ^^;;


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Suzaku's dreams tortured him that night.

He watched R2's death over and over in his mind's eye, replaying it in an endless horrifying loop. Watched the bullet penetrate his chest just below his heart, watched the light leave his eyes, only for him to get back up, still coated in blood, to be shot again. In the dream Suzaku was powerless; he had no way to interfere and stop the scene from repeating incessantly. He was simply forced to watch it unfold until all he could see was red, red, endless red…

The color he'd seen enough of to last a lifetime on that day when he, a foolish naïve ten-year-old, had done the unthinkable. All of that pent-up frustration, hurt, fear, rage, released in that one moment, that one blindly murderous moment that would haunt him for the rest of his days…

R2 stumbled to his feet once more… but no, the man who stood before Suzaku now was no longer R2.

It was Genbu Kururugi.

"Still feeling guilty, I see," he sneered, and that horrid color spread across his torso stemming from the dagger that now casually rested where his heart would be. He looked down in only mild surprise – somehow it didn't shock him that a lethal weapon was suddenly protruding from his body – and tugged the blade out with a sickening _schluck_. He leveled the dagger so that it hovered millimeters over Suzaku's face, right between his eyes. "It's not enough," he hissed, and the weapon found its mark.

* * *

><p>Suzaku woke from the horrendous apparition cocooned in twisted, bunched-up blankets, his skin dripping with a thick coating of perspiration, to find that his entire line of vision was occupied by a looming pale face and concerned violet eyes held only inches from his.<p>

He released a garbled exclamation along the lines of "Gruwaaaaah!" and bolted upwards, feeling his forehead connect with something narrow and unyielding.

A muffled, "Christ, Suzaku!" and he was able to dispel all traces of the nightmare and fully absorb his surroundings.

He was in his dorm, but lying on a lumpy, improvised mattress of seat cushions rather than his bed. Incongruously cheerful morning sunlight streamed through the window. Yesterday's events finally rushed at him in a wave of jolting recognition; he shifted his gaze and saw R2 sitting with his legs folded under him at the end of the makeshift bed, cupping his now profusely bleeding nose with one hand.

His sleep-addled mind managed to put two and two together, and he babbled a nearly unintelligible "Ohmygodimsosorry!", bolting to his feet on a quest for tissues to staunch the blood. Because really, he didn't need to see any more blood.

He lunged for the box of Kleenex sitting on his bedside table and threw it at R2. In order to prevent it from hitting him in the face, R2 had to release the hold on his suffering nose. The result - or lack thereof due to his virtually nonexistent hand-eye coordination - was that the box instead sailed across the room, and blood gushed freely to spatter onto the surrounding blankets.

R2 muttered a curse under his breath and staggered after the elusive thing, Suzaku scrambling after him in a half-baked effort to be of at least minimal assistance. R2 dove for it, an oblivious Suzaku following close behind. The endeavor ended with the two of them landing on the floor in a tangled heap, arms and legs entwined every which way. And the blood flow wasn't getting any lighter.

"Suzaku… can't breathe…" R2's plaintive cry leaked out from where Suzaku's chest was being unceremoniously pressed into his face.

"Sorry!" Suzaku yelped for the second time. He managed to extricate himself from R2's ensnaring limbs and grab the tissue box, this time gently handing it to R2 to avoid any more mishaps like the one that had just transpired.

"You could have just handed them to me the first time," R2 muttered before pressing a tissue to his blood-encrusted nose.

Suzaku winced and looked down at his feet, sitting cross-legged across from the immortal. "I really am sorry," he said again, as though repeating it would make the entire ordeal any less embarrassing.

"Don't worry about it; I've experienced worse," R2 casually replied, shrugging off the apology. He held a second rumpled tissue up to his nose and tilted his head back.

Suzaku attempted to stifle a chuckle, but R2 still picked up on it.

"What are you laughing at?" he demanded, sounding more defensive than he'd wanted to.

Suzaku smiled. "I don't know… it's just that… you'd think that after living for a hundred and sixty-eight years, you'd know how to properly handle a nosebleed."

"I'm handling it just fine, thank you," R2 said tartly.

"But you're not. See, if you tilt your head back like that, the blood gets into your throat and clogs up your sinuses."

R2 wrinkled his nose despite himself. "Thank you for that pleasant imagery."

Suzaku chose to ignore that quip and continued, "You have to apply pressure to your nose by pinching the bridge of it…"

"I _knew_ that!"

"…and tilt your head forward."

Suzaku fixed his eyes on R2's, eagerly waiting for him to take his advice.

R2 returned his gaze with an exasperated one and sighed. "I suppose when you look at me like that, I have no choice." He let his head flop forward and pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

Suzaku wanted to stop and ponder exactly what that could mean, but first he had to set something straight. "You're still doing it wrong," he pointed out. "Now you're too far forward."

"What, do I have to hold it at a precise 37.5 degrees or something?" R2 demanded irritably.

"No, just like…" Suzaku leaned forward, placed his hands on R2's cheeks, and gently tilted his head upward until he was looking down into his eyes again. "Like this…"

Suzaku realized that he hadn't fully appreciated R2's eyes amidst all of the previous night's confusion. He'd noted that they were purple, yes, but before he'd thought them to be a mellow sort of lavender, only lighting up when he'd worn Suzaku's school uniform… and in that breathless moment where the length of his life had been thrown into question and R2 had pressed his lips against… but no, Suzaku had resolved not to think about _that_ again.

He found now that R2's eyes had in fact always been like _this_… a rich, striking amethyst color, but more intense than simply that; more… saturated, somehow. They seemed almost electric at this moment, crackling with some unseen but mighty force.

"Um… Suzaku? You can let go of my face now."

Suzaku awoke from his reverie and hastily complied, muttering "sorry" for the umpteenth time as he settled back against the cushions and began absentmindedly fiddling with the hem of his T-shirt.

For the next ten minutes he sat stock-still, watching and waiting for the alleviation of the incessant flood of blood. R2 continued to follow Suzaku's instructions without commentary.

When it was finally over, R2 stood up and proclaimed briskly without further ado, "Now then… I'm off to see the headmaster."

Suzaku choked on air. "Wh-what? Just like that? You're going to just stroll into Dr. Ashford's office and command him to enroll you in one of the most prestigious schools in the country?"

R2 scowled at him. "Have a little faith in me. I may not seem like it, but when I was your age, I was a brilliant tactician who could manipulate the most uncompromising of minds. I mean that in the humblest way possible, of course."

Suzaku's laughter didn't go unnoticed this time either.

"What is it now?" R2 demanded irately.

Suzaku's eyes gleamed with mirth. "Just the way you said that - 'When I was your age' - it should be coming out of some old bearded guy waggling a cane at me. Not someone who looks like they wouldn't be allowed into a bar."

R2 moodily blew a stray lock of hair away from his eyes and grumbled, "Have some respect for your elders." He began to make his way towards the door.

"You're going to convince the headmaster to enroll you while wearing pajamas?" Suzaku inquired pointedly.

R2 looked at Suzaku, down at his flannel-clad legs, then at Suzaku again. "May I?" he asked grudgingly.

"You may." Suzaku rooted through the wardrobe that stood adjacent to his bed in search of something that would fit R2 reasonably well. Upon finding an outfit that he deemed worthy, he handed the bundle to R2 – he knew better than to throw anything at this point – and couldn't help but add with a smirk, "Here you go… brilliant tactician."

He took the _crack_ of a pair of pants whipping his shoulder with a satisfied grin.

R2 stripped down to his boxers and then put on the clothing Suzaku had given him without complaint, during which Suzaku forced himself to look the other way.

After considering himself to be finally presentable, R2 was on his way out the door.

Suzaku felt that it shouldn't end like that, with R2 leaving without another word. "Wait!" he cried. R2 turned to him expectantly, and Suzaku found that he in fact had nothing to say.

But somehow he managed to stammer, "Make sure to call him '_Dr._ Ashford'. God knows if he is one or not; he just prefers it that way. Call him 'Mr.' and you're instantly on his bad side. He's a bit of a… an _eccentric_ that way."

R2 nodded curtly – was that _nerves_ Suzaku detected under that self-assured demeanor? – and closed the door behind him.

Except he didn't shut it completely. He had disappeared from Suzaku's view, but the door had been left open a crack, through which his voice floated into the room. "Suzaku?" he called out softly.

Suzaku swallowed uncertainly. "Yes?"

He could hear the amusement in the immortal's voice when he said, "You should smile more. It takes years off you. And when you do, I can't help but want to smile too." The door clicked shut, and Suzaku was left standing alone with a stupefied expression.

Who was _he_ to tell Suzaku to smile? R2 had no idea of the burden Suzaku had to shoulder day after day. But Suzaku found that he couldn't feel annoyed by the request. He just contemplated R2's words dazedly, feeling inexplicably distant… until his eyes caught sight of the digital clock on the wall and he exclaimed with a start, "Shit! _School!_"

* * *

><p>R2 stood in front of an elaborate set of wooden double doors – could they be the same as the ones that had occupied this hallway a hundred and fifty years ago, he wondered – took in a deep breath through his nose, and knocked.<p>

Knocked again. Nothing.

Knocked thrice. Silence.

He replayed Suzaku's advice in his mind; he had no doubt that the current headmaster was an eccentric if he was linked by blood to the infamously peculiar Milly Ashford.

After the fourth knock hailed no response, he swallowed his reservations and called, "Hello? May I speak to… _Dr._ Ashford, please?"

The doors instantly swung open to reveal a jovial-looking man with sandy-blond hair and wire-rimmed glasses who looked to be in his early thirties. "Welcome, m'boy!" he boomed in a (faux?) Scottish accent.

_What the hell?_ R2 thought to himself. _Was he standing next to the door just listening to me knock?_

As if reading his thoughts, the man said in a voice now devoid of any Scottish inflection, "Knocking is so _timid_. So _ambiguous_. So _overrated_. It takes the bigger man to voice his desires out loud, wouldn't you say?" He wiggled his eyebrows at a thoroughly speechless R2. "Well, come in, boy, don't be shy!" He grasped R2's arm and tugged him inside his office, closing the doors behind him with a solid _clunk_.

R2 stood in the middle of a carpeted, old-fashioned room; framed photographs and shelves of dusty-looking books lined the walls, and an enormous map of Britannia hung side-by-side with an equally large one of Japan.

Dr. Ashford seated himself behind a large oak desk, rested his chin on interlaced fingers, and asked, this time in a greatly exaggerated British accent, "To whom do I owe the pleasure?"

R2, attempting to ignore the man's strangeness, spoke the first name that popped into his mind. "Rivalz, sir," he said, feeling oddly sentimental all of a sudden. "Rivalz Cardemonde."

"And why've you graced the illustrious Ashford Academy with your presence today, Mr. Cardemonde?" The accent was now distinctly Cockney.

R2 told himself that he had encountered stranger people, to just take it all in stride.

In his smoothest, most cultured tone of voice – though he made sure not to be overly flattering – he said, "I moved here recently from Hokkaido, and I haven't yet chosen where I would like to continue my education. By chance I heard of Ashford Academy's first-rate reputation as one of the finest schools in the area. Upon more extensive research, I see that reputation is no rumor. I've come here today in the hopes that you will allow me to attend Ashford Academy. If you choose to accept my request, I promise that I will be an active and passionate member of the student body. I ultimately believe that, in attending Ashford, I will be able to maximize my educational experience and fully realize my intellectual potential." He finished slightly out breath and wondered if he'd laid it on a bit too thick. But no, he had no reason to doubt himself! His words had destroyed countries and created them, had attained him indispensible allies, had transformed a ragtag resistance group into a force that could challenge civilization's greatest superpower, had _changed the entire world_…

"Fo' Chrissakes, mate, I didn't ask for a bleedin' Nobel Prize speech! Y'know, ya coulda juss told me ya wanted t'go to me academy! An' I would've let ya!"

R2 would have been annoyed by the fact that this man was patronizing someone who was approximately one hundred and twenty years his senior if he hadn't been trying to figure what kind of accent _that_ was. Was the good doctor, God bless his prematurely senile soul, trying to be a _pirate_ now?

"Do you have a criminal record, Rivalz-kun?"

_Kun?_ R2 forced himself not to bristle at that and simply answered, "No, sir." He decided not to count leading one of the bloodiest rebellions in world history as part of his criminal record. Not to mention assuming the post of world dictator.

"Then, _bienvenue_! You are officially a student at Ashford Academy!"

_What in the world_… Milly may have been strange, R2 reasoned, but she wasn't _insane_.

He didn't want to push his luck, but he had to know the basis, if any, for Dr. Ashford's seemingly spur-of-the-moment decision. "May I ask why, doctor?"

The headmaster flashed him a toothy grin. "B'cause I _like_ ya. Ya remind me o' meself when I was a wee lad."

R2 shuddered to think that had an ounce of truth to it.

He hadn't been dismissed, and so he continued to stand uncomfortably in front of the desk; as peculiar as this "doctor" was, he couldn't forget his manners.

Dr. Ashford, seemingly forgetting that R2 was still there, rummaged around in his desk drawer until he pulled out a suspicious-looking magazine that was emblazoned with a glossy full-color image of a busty and scantily-clad woman. He then proceeded to kick his feet onto the desk and _read_ it with a smile that was entirely too broad.

Desperate to break the silence, R2 pointed at one of the many framed photographs that adorned the wall and asked, "A relative of yours?"

The photograph was of Milly, blonde hair blowing slightly in the wind, a wide and genuine grin creasing her enigmatic blue eyes. She held a dark gray cat with a black spot over one eye in her arms – Arthur, R2 remembered with a fond little smile. Milly had been one of the very few people who had known R2's true identity – that of the banished prince, Lelouch vi Britannia – when he had come to Ashford all of those years ago. He thought of her now with affection and longing, though he knew that being preoccupied with the past did nothing for him other than fill his chest with a tight, suffocating ache. He missed her. He missed _everyone_. Those feelings hadn't dwindled at all in the last one hundred and fifty years – he could never bring himself to dispel them, so instead he kept them deeply buried at the back of his mind. But it was moments such as these that caused them to rise to the surface, as strong and as pure as they were back then.

Damn it all, his eyes were getting misty. He needed to stop this _now_.

Thankfully Dr. Ashford's ridiculous array of accents kept him rooted to the present. "My… great, great grandmother, I believe?" He said it as a question; this time he had a throaty French accent with hard, raspy _r_'s. "Perhaps great, great great. Hell, let's throw a fourth great in there."

Then suddenly the headmaster was squinting in something like incredulity; it caused R2's senses to be placed on alert. "How odd," Dr. Ashford said, now mercifully sans accent. "This young man here looks like _you_, Rivalz. Frighteningly so!"

R2's wildly pounding heart lodged itself in his throat. He followed the headmaster's gaze and his eyes alighted on another picture of Milly, this time posing in camaraderie with Kallen, Shirley, Nina, the _real_ Rivalz, and… _him_. His ebony hair was perhaps a little shorter than it was now, but it was undeniably R2, the corners of his mouth curved upward in a reserved smile, wearing that black and gold Ashford uniform.

For the second time since meeting the headmaster, R2 was suddenly, uncharacteristically tongue-tied.

A moment of tense silence – at least, R2 perceived it to be tense – and Dr. Ashford laughed heartily and clapped R2 on the back for no apparent reason. "History can be strange sometimes!"

R2 wasn't sure how that comment was relevant to the situation, but he laughed weakly along with him, thanking the stars and the gods and C's World and anything else that was remotely sacred or mystical.

And now Dr. Ashford was leading him – _finally_, he thought – to the door.

"Come here at 7:30 tomorrow morning for your schedule, uniform, and room key, Mr. Cardemonde," he said genially. "And remember this…" – he raised a pointer finger and assumed a comically intense facial expression – "If anything is troubling you – school, family, friends, love life – you can always come to me and cry against my fatherly guiding bosom!"

R2 resolved that he would very regrettably have to pass on that bosom. But all he said was, "Thank you, doctor," and those great double doors clanked shut behind him. He let out an enormous gust of breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He'd done it. He was a student at Ashford Academy… again. He felt strangely exhausted… perhaps regeneration was still taking its toll on him. At any rate, he wanted nothing more than to collapse onto that wonderful downy bed of Suzaku's right now.

It was then that he realized he didn't have any way back into Suzaku's dorm room.

* * *

><p>As Suzaku rushed into P.E. fifteen minutes late – Coach Villetta would be out for his blood, he realized with a wince – it occurred to him that his only available gym shirt at the moment was the one with those cursed, hateful letters.<p>

He'd been planning on bringing a substitute shirt with him, but certain events that had taken place the previous evening had made this – understandably, he thought in protest – the last thing on his mind.

So it was with dread pooling in the pit of his stomach that he faced the terrifying Villetta, who students referred to as Dragon Lady. But not to her face. _Never_ to her face, unless someone was feeling particularly suicidal and wished to die in the most drawn-out, painful way possible.

She glowered at him with the scorching intensity of a thousand simultaneous solar flares. "Can you explain to me why you are fifteen minutes tardy, Mister Kururugi?"

_Yes… I was lending advice and moral support to someone who was afflicted with a killer nosebleed and who happens to be both immortal and yet paradoxically on some dark force's death list._ But "No, ma'am" was what came out of his mouth.

Coach Villetta made an ominous noise in the back of her throat that sounded an awful lot like a growl. "Get changed, Kururugi. _Quickly_."

There was no way he could approach her with any rational argument when she was in this kind of mood. So, though every part of him desperately screamed _No_, he turned without another word and headed into the locker room.

That shirt. That hateful, blasted shirt. But then he had a frustratingly belated thought – _couldn't he just turn it inside out_? It was paint, glaring red paint, but maybe there was a chance that it wouldn't show. So, hoping against hope, he reversed the shirt to find… that the letters had angrily bled through, as if to torment him. No… of course it wouldn't be _that_ easy.

When he put the wretched thing on, he felt like he was putting every terrible prejudice and racial slur ever directed at the Japanese on with him.

The words didn't even make sense, he now thought bitterly. _Jappy Go Home_… but he _was_ home, wasn't he? Japan was an independent nation; it had been for over a century. And yet Britannians still strutted around his homeland like they owned it, like the Japanese were a particularly repulsive type of insect that could be crushed underfoot and eradicated.

But no, it didn't do to dwell on those angry, resentful thoughts. So he squared his shoulders, held his head high, and walked back into the gymnasium. The class was currently split into two teams that were pitted against each other in a game of handball; Suzaku was about to slip into the fray and join them when his way was barred by Villetta's arm.

"Where do you think you're going?" she hissed. "You think you can disrespect my class like this, stroll in whenever you want, selfishly take away from _my time_, and get _away_ with it?"

Suzaku trained his eyes on her emotionlessly.

She stared back at him, her fury now replaced with a frighteningly calm, steely-eyed gaze, and said, "You will run laps around the gym for the remainder of class."

Suzaku's resolve crumbled. He'd always been extremely athletic; he loved to run, was born to run, with his long, well-toned legs and endless endurance. But now… why now, placing his shame on display for everyone to see? He knew that Villetta was aware of the way it would affect him, and that was why she'd issued that particular punishment. She didn't want to simply give him a detention; no, making a spectacle of him in that vulgar shirt was infinitely more satisfying for her.

A bolt of anger, unexpected and heady, tore through him. Why did she have to this to him? He'd gladly clean the toilets in the boys' locker room for the next month rather than do _this_. He didn't want to… he _refused_ to. Why couldn't she see how humiliating this was? Why couldn't she understand, and listen, and…

Pressure. There was a strange, indescribable pressure behind his left eye; not painful, just… strange. But no, he realized, not pressure - just the opposite. He felt as though that eye was being tugged at by some unseen force, that its essence was being… _projected_ in front of him, settling on Villetta's form, soaking _into_ her. It was one of the strangest sensations he'd ever experienced.

He barely had any time to process what had just happened before Villetta slowly blinked at him as though she had never seen him before in her life.

And then she smiled warmly at him and huskily murmured, "Hello, gorgeous."

No. It couldn't be. Was this…?

"Hey… what do you say we go out for a drink after school?" She took in Suzaku's incredulous stare and laughed. "Yes, I know, I'm a teacher and you're a student, but it could be purely… as_ friends_, couldn't it?" She curved her lips coyly and raised a suggestive brow. "At least for now. Nobody has to know…"

She wasn't able to finish because it was at that moment that Suzaku chose to run. He didn't know where; he just needed to _run_, to get _out_ of there.

"Can't I at least have your number?" she called after him in protest.

* * *

><p>Suzaku didn't realize he'd been running towards his dorm room until he was there. He didn't even bother to ask R2 why he was suspiciously loitering outside the door. He was just grateful to see him… but beneath the relief was an undercurrent of barely suppressed rage.<p>

He stopped in front of R2 breathlessly, knowing that he must have looked rather scary, his eyes wild, his hair tousled, and… damn it, he was still wearing that _shirt_.

"I take it you've discovered your Geass?" R2 asked with an infuriating amount of calmness.

Suzaku was speechless at this point, trusting him to see the answer to that question written in his eyes.

R2 smiled gently – actually _smiled_, despite the situation – and suggested, "Why don't you come inside. It seems we have some matters to discuss."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>: Yeah... there was some crack in this chapter... blame my unbalanced, sleep-deprived mind. I put a lot of myself into Dr. Ashford's character, which in hindsight is kind of frightening to fully realize. However, I can confidently say that I do not have any porn mags in my desk drawer.

So... Suzaku's geass is (sort of) revealed! Sorry to leave anyone hanging; I just felt like this was a good place to stop. In the next chapter the geass will be fully discussed, Suzaku will discover its rules and limitations (with R2's help), and chaos may ensue. I hope you all stick around till then! Favs and reviews work wonders for a budding writer's soul!

Until next time,

Byronic Heroine ^-^


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Tell me what happened," R2 prompted, seating himself at the foot of Suzaku's bed in a way that was far too invasive for its owner's liking.

Suzaku forced himself to calm down enough to form coherent sentences. "I was talking to my gym teacher," – he decided he didn't need to delve too deep into the nature of that conversation – "…and suddenly she…" He found himself blushing at the absurdity of the ordeal. Did he really have to relive the whole thing?

"She what?" R2 cupped his chin in his hands and leaned forward in interest, his head cocked slightly to one side.

"She… started flirting with me," Suzaku mumbled hurriedly, annoyed with himself for displaying so obviously how distressed he was. "She was really forward about it, and she asked me out, and…" _Gods_, this was awkward.

R2 bit his lip pensively. "Do you mean to say that… she acted as if she was in love with you?"

"Well… yes, if her words were anything to go by." R2's earnest curiosity was somehow having a calming effect on Suzaku. What had happened to the bewilderment and anger he'd felt just minutes ago? R2 was forcing him to coolly analyze the situation rather than act purely on emotion, and though this irked him, he grudgingly admitted to himself that he was probably better off that way.

"Then I suppose that's it, then," R2 said thoughtfully. "Your geass, Suzaku, is to make anyone fall in love with you. Coincidentally, the immortal who granted me _my_ geass had at one time possessed that very same power."

That latter statement was an influx of information, almost more than Suzaku could process all at once, and it set a flood of questions coursing through his mind. He hadn't known that R2 had possessed a geass… what power had he been given? He supposed that R2 hadn't always been immortal, then, as he had automatically assumed. The thought that R2 had once been in his situation was almost too surreal to imagine. That R2, an unsuspecting student, had made a contract with another immortal that granted him his own geass…

But no, he needed to focus on what was happening at this moment, because, he told himself, it was much more pressing. "To… make anyone fall in love with me?" he repeated needlessly; it was more for himself than for anyone else. "I can make anyone love me?"

R2 shook his head. "Not love you."

"But you just said – "

"Suzaku, your geass simply creates feelings of extreme attraction and infatuation that give one the feeling of being in love. No amount of supernatural power can create love itself. It's far too complicated to duplicate, far too complicated to instill by artificial means."

Suzaku blinked slowly as he attempted to digest that. And then the anger that he'd thought he'd been able to suppress bubbled back to the surface.

"Out of all of the possible powers that you could have given me, you chose that one?"

He was angry, that was undeniable, but under that was bitter disappointment. When R2 had granted him a geass, he'd expected something… big. Something that he could use to change the world. No, not the world – that sounded too presumptuous. But he wanted to change… _something_, as vague as that sounded. He wanted to eliminate prejudice in Japan for good, so that neither he nor any other Japanese had to suffer simply for being who they were ever again. If he'd been given a geass that was actually _useful_, then that dream could have been realized…

R2 released a short, humorless laugh. "_I _didn't choose it, Suzaku… _you_ did."

Suzaku felt dread, cold and heavy, creep through his insides for the second time that day. "What do you mean?" he asked apprehensively, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

R2 explained, "A person's geass manifests itself according to his or her greatest, most desperate wish. I wished to have other people bend to my will, and so I attained the power to command someone to do anything. I had no say in the matter; it simply _happened_ that way. Likewise, if your power is to make anyone fall in love with you, then it must be that you wanted more than anything to simply be loved."

Hearing R2 say it like that, so impartial and analytical, made it even worse. At that moment Suzaku felt like one incredibly wretched human being. His deepest wish… so when it really came down to it, his desire to be loved trumped his desire to help his people. How pathetic.

"What a selfish geass," he spat in disgust.

"No more selfish than mine," R2 pointed out.

Suzaku shook his head. "That's not true. With your power, you could achieve anything. You could use it for the greater good… change the entire world with it. I… I envy that power." And he really did, though he was rather ashamed to admit it.

R2's eyes clouded over, rendered completely unreadable. "It's not that great," he muttered darkly. But before Suzaku could inquire about his sudden change of mood, R2 asked – a little too forced – "Out of curiosity, I'd like to figure out any limitations that your geass has. Can you remember if you were making eye contact with your gym teacher when it activated?"

Suzaku took a moment to ponder the question before answering, "I don't think I was."

R2 twirled a lock of ebony hair between his fingers as he surveyed Suzaku with detached fascination, as a scientist might observe unexpected results of an experiment. "Interesting…" His eyes had gone cold, his tone completely aloof, and Suzaku felt at that moment that R2 viewed him not as a human being but as a specimen.

And it infuriated him to no end.

That ever-present anger ran white-hot through his veins, and he demanded harshly, "R2, _why_ did you give me a geass?"

"Because you accepted the terms of the contract," the immortal responded matter-of-factly.

Suzaku's knuckles whitened under skin stretched taut over curling fists. "You _know_ that's not what I mean!"

R2 feigned innocence and said, "I don't know if I do." The violet eyes that Suzaku had so admired were mocking him now, glazed over with indifference.

"Why would you give me a geass? Were you trying out your powers as an immortal because you had nothing better to do? Zeroing in on some unsuspecting victim so you could play God?"

R2 bristled at the accusations, and the eyes that observed Suzaku then were frozen and dangerous. "Did it ever occur to you that during my one hundred and fifty years of isolated wandering, I could have gotten _bored_?"

That was _not_ what Suzaku had wanted to hear. "So that's it, then?" He was full-on shouting now, he was losing control and he knew it, he was drunk on his anger, but no, he didn't _care_. "We mere mortals are nothing compared to your greatness, oh no. It's _perfectly_ all right for you to find a human plaything so you're not completely jaded during your endless existence. And when you get bored with one, no worries – you can just toss him aside and find a newer, more _exciting_ toy to ease your boredom. It's all a big fucking _game_ to you, isn't it? Well, I've got news for you, R2…" He distantly realized that he was grasping R2 by the collar of his shirt, hoisting him into the air, but the fact that he might be hurting the immortal never once crossed his mind. He hadn't snapped like this since that day seven years ago… and though he didn't plan to go as far as he had then, God forbid, he was going to act on his emotion, and no earthly force was going to stop him.

He jerked his face forward until it was only inches away from R2's. In any other circumstance he would have been thrilled by his proximity, but now he only felt pure loathing for the man, crashing down on him in roiling, relentless waves. "Find someone else," he hissed, "because I'm not your fucking test subject!" He threw R2 hard against the mattress, and then snatched up his wallet and a change of clothes without another word.

Before leaving the room he turned back, against his better judgment (if any remained), expecting to find R2 staring at him fearfully, his pretty purple eyes bulging with shock. But no - the bastard was _smiling_. Not a broad, jovial grin; rather, his thin lips were pressed into a calculating smirk, as though this all _was_ just some game.

And he said, "This is more entertaining than I ever thought it would be." Flinching only barely at the slamming door that followed.

He meandered lazily to the window, watching as Suzaku pulled out of the parking lot on his motorcycle a few minutes later. Yes, this was the most fun he'd had in ages.

But R2 had always been a bit of a masochist in situations such as these. When people had blamed him for the unthinkable wrongs he'd committed, he would never once try to deny the accusations or argue his position. He'd simply take the hatred all in stride, reasoning that none of it mattered in the bigger picture.

So instead of telling Suzaku the truth – that he'd given him his geass in the hopes that it would manifest into a power that could save the boy's life during that moment when he wasn't sure whether he'd live or die, much like C2 had done for him all those years ago – he was content with agreeing with whatever theories Suzaku came up with.

Because really, it _always_ came down to the bigger picture. Nothing else mattered, right?

* * *

><p>Suzaku paused only to change in one of the school bathrooms – balling up his gym shirt and tossing it in the trash to be rid of it once and for all – before taking off on his motorcycle to who knew where.<p>

He was an excellent student with an immaculate record – he was at Ashford on a scholarship, after all. He'd never even thought of skipping class before. But there was no way he was listening to any sort of logic at this point. He was simply acting on his fury. And he didn't want to accidentally use his geass on anyone else at his school, for fear of producing more horrific results.

And so it was with a strange sense of déjà vu that he found himself speeding aimlessly through the Tokyo traffic with no knowledge of his destination. In a movie he'd be stopping at a bar right about now to wash down his problems with a few manly shots of gin. Unfortunately (or fortunately, perhaps?) he wasn't in a movie, and he was seventeen and had no fake ID to speak of. He supposed he could have tried to pass for older, but his rage-clouded mind could at least figure that it really wasn't worth it.

So he settled for a local bookstore. The fact that all of the books were written in Japanese soothed him a bit, and as he ensconced himself in a comfortable chair with a couple of volumes of his favorite manga, he thought for a few illusory moments that perhaps everything would be all right.

But he hadn't scanned through the pages of black-and-white swordfights and gravity-defying hair for more than a few minutes before slamming the book shut and placing it at his feet; more urgent matters were biting incessantly at his mind.

He had no idea what limitations, if any, his geass possessed. When he'd used it against Coach Villetta, it had been completely inadvertent. He hadn't been chanting "Love me!" like a mantra in his head. More than anything he'd just wanted her to leave him alone. The moment it had activated had seemed to be completely at random. Was its initiation completely out of his control? Just thinking about that made his stomach clench sickeningly.

He didn't want another fiasco like the one with Villetta to occur. He needed to know how his geass worked. It seemed that the only way to do that would be to test it on people. But no, he refused to go that far – he refused to use people as his pawns. _Of course_, he thought bitterly, _R2 would have no such qualms_.

And that brought him to another matter that he was reluctant to face: R2 himself.

The way he'd looked at him so coldly, the way he'd regarded him as though he was no more than a slab of meat; and then the way he'd smirked so knowingly, as if Suzaku's distress was just one big joke. He supposed that being immortal, having no emotional ties, could mold someone into that… but no, he wasn't going to try to justify R2's actions. He was only trying to delude himself.

Suzaku had been aware of his homosexuality for a while now. Though he'd surprised himself at first, he'd quickly acknowledged it as yet another inevitable aspect of himself, like his unusual green eyes or his perpetually tousled hair. He'd had crushes – who hadn't by the time they were seventeen? – but they had all been from afar. He'd never acted on any of them.

And then R2 had stormed dramatically into his life. Truth be told, Suzaku's heart had been his the moment he'd kissed him, never mind that there was no rational explanation to it. And he'd continued to believe that it had meant something, even when R2 had explained that it was a way to "connect their consciousnesses." Even when he had made it perfectly clear that their relationship was purely platonic, if even that.

What _was_ their relationship? It was strange to think that Suzaku had only met R2 the night before – he felt like so much had happened to the two of them that it must have been much longer than that. But a near-death experience did have a way of bringing people together.

Their relationship was that of a geass contractor and his immortal. What that meant, Suzaku could only begin to guess at. But the contract was irreversible, and their bond, however strange it was, ran deep. Whether Suzaku liked it or not, his geass was a part of him now. R2 would be there to, if not _guide_ him per se, lend him at least his presence for support. And they would discover side by side where their contract took them.

Suzaku didn't know whether to smile or cry as he thought, _It's going to be one hell of a ride. _

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>: Yes, I know this one's a bit shorter than the others... but I'm leaving soon for a 2-week vacation in a delightful little cottage a block away from the ocean. I've been going there every summer as long as I can remember, and I love it. The only downside: no internet access. That's right... for the next two weeks, no YouTube, no Mangafox, no deviantART... no FF. T_T So I didn't leave off where I originally intended to because I knew that I wouldn't finish it in time to post it before I left. If by some miracle I do finish the next bit in the next two days (amidst all of the frantic packing), that'll definitely go up too. If not (which is quite likely due to my pitiful packing skills, but let's not rule out the first option quite yet!), then it'll be two weeks till the next chapter. But take heart - just because I'm on vacation doesn't mean I won't be hard at work on the next few chapters... so once I return home and my beloved internet is given back to me, expect multiple chapters being posted very close together! ^0^

Until next time,

Byronic Heroine ^-^


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Several hours had passed when Suzaku finally left the bookstore, thanking the store clerk in Japanese for his patience before heading outside. He couldn't say he'd reached closure about his predicament, but at least he no longer felt like repeatedly ripping off R2's head.

Of course, when he finally felt that things were looking up, fate descended upon him and bit him in the backside.

He was walking down the street when he suddenly heard a rough male voice call, "Hey, you! Shouldn't you be in school?"

Suzaku turned his head and saw a police officer storming towards him, wearing an ominous frown. He froze momentarily, having never been in this kind of situation before - was he supposed to stop and let the officer deal with him, or should he turn and run?

Though the latter briefly crossed his mind, he vied to stay for whatever the policeman had in store for him. Damn that altruistic moral code of his.

The officer, a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair, caught up with him and scowled at him again. "Have you got some sort of student ID?"

Suzaku really didn't want to cause any trouble; if possible, he wanted to be able to slip out of the dilemma with only a warning.

"Yes, sir," he mumbled, much to his chagrin, in the complacent tone that he always found himself using with Britannian authority. He took out his wallet and flashed him a plastic card embossed with Ashford Academy's crest and a badly-taken picture of himself.

"Ashford, eh?" The policeman scrutinized him with his arms folded over his chest and asked, "Aren't they recognized for their perfect attendance records or something?" Not bothering to wait for an answer – not that Suzaku would have given him one anyway – he gave the condemning verdict: "Well, then, I'll just have to escort you back to class. And your principal will have to know about this as well."

Suzaku's last shred of hope melted and pooled at his feet. He wasn't a ditcher… but he wasn't sure how well he'd be able to convince anyone of that once the headmaster found out. Because Dr. Ashford, despite his many peculiarities, was _good_ at his job. And he wouldn't stand for any scholarship student cutting class.

He looked imploringly at the officer, trying to think of something, anything, to use in his defense…

And then suddenly the man was blinking slowly, as though he had just been awakened from a long nap.

It was the same look that Villetta had worn moments before asking Suzaku out.

No… this couldn't be happening…

The policeman beamed at Suzaku. "Though I suppose in your case, I can make an exception," he said, winking jovially. He stepped forward and placed two fingers underneath Suzaku's chin, tilting his face upwards. "Hey… by any chance, would you care to…"

Suzaku jerked away from his hand in revulsion and bolted, not bothering to listen to the end of that sentence. He had a very strong hunch of what it was leading to anyway.

_Damn_ it. Just when he'd thought that maybe he'd calmed down enough to at least accept his unwanted power, if not embrace it, his geass had to activate again. And this time on a much older man… Suzaku shuddered, rubbing at his chin as though trying to rid himself of all traces of what had just happened.

He located his motorcycle – his beloved bike, his one constant in the supernatural mess that his life had very recently become – and hastily mounted it.

His furious, churning mind centered on R2 – R2, with his infuriatingly supercilious smirk and his beautiful, horrible eyes and his cruel indifference to the events that he himself had set in motion.

Suzaku surged forward in the direction of Ashford Academy feeling worse than when he'd left it.

* * *

><p>He entered his dorm and found R2 curled up asleep on his bed. With his long, dark eyelashes and the soft purr of his steady breathing, he looked so harmless and innocent that Suzaku could almost forget how much he had been wronged by him.<p>

Almost… but not quite. He refused to let that angelic face fool him any longer.

He roughly shook R2 awake; hazy violet eyes gazing up groggily at nothing in particular before finally settling on Suzaku's looming form. "You're back, I see," he murmured, any cool edge that he could have possessed in his voice superseded by drowsiness.

"I'm back," Suzaku affirmed grimly. And then, straight and to the point, he commanded, "R2, _leave_."

All traces of grogginess had vanished. "Excuse me?"

"You heard." Suzaku bit his bottom lip to keep it from trembling. He couldn't show any weakness, not now… this was _his_ dorm. R2 had to stop acting like he owned the place.

"And where is all of this renewed fury coming from?" he inquired languidly. "Did something happen?"

Suzaku's face flushed hotly, and he squeezed out through clenched teeth, "I accidentally used my geass again… on an older man this time."

"Why should that really bother you?" R2 asked as he impassively fiddled with a lock of hair. "Aren't you gay?"

The calm, indifferent way in which R2 voiced the inference made Suzaku feel as though his face was spontaneously combusting. Was it really that easy to figure out, or was R2 just unusually perceptive? "That's none of your damn business," he hissed.

R2 held up his hands in a gesture of submission. "All right, all right…" After a pause in which it seemed that the entire room was holding its collective breath, he asked quietly, "So where do you suggest I go?"

Suzaku hadn't really given much thought to that. Guilt flushed through his limbs, made them cold and heavy… he felt so _heartless_ right now. Even while being fully aware of what R2 had done to him, what he had condemned him to, he still wasn't sure if he had it in him to just throw the immortal out and abandon him.

But while all of that flashed through his mind, what came out was, "Just go back to wherever you came from."

R2 pursed his lips and furrowed his brow in consternation. "Wherever I came from…" he repeated faintly.

Suzaku angrily smacked his hand on top of the bedside table, watching in satisfaction as R2 visibly flinched at the noise. "Yes, wherever you came from. You didn't just appear here in a puff of smoke, did you? Where were you before _this_…" – by this, he meant everything from the attempt on their lives last night up to this moment – "…all happened? Because, quite frankly, I can barely stand to look at your face right now." He knew that last bit had been unnecessarily harsh, not to mention childish, but right now he just desperately wanted the immortal to disappear from his life.

R2 surveyed him with a carefully guarded expression. "I have an apartment. It's not too far from here."

A spike of annoyance pricked at the surface of Suzaku's skin. "You could have mentioned that yesterday. I could have taken you there –"

"And risk falling into a trap set by the Order of Cornelia? Because as incompetent as they may seem, it is true that they were able to track me down. For all I know, they could have been ready to ambush me in my apartment, aware that there was a good chance that I had escaped their hired guns."

At the moment Suzaku found himself hating logic with a passion.

"And they could very well still be there now. Which is why I think maybe you should reconsider – "

"I'm not reconsidering anything." The way Suzaku said it was low, eerily calm, a translucent screen over something that lay deeper within, dark and unstable and twisted. R2 perceived it, and though he didn't know quite what it meant, he knew that it was best to keep whatever lurked beneath the surface of Suzaku's psyche in its place.

"How do you expect me to get there?" he asked in resignation. His tone betrayed the fact that he'd just lost.

Suzaku was extremely tired of R2's perfectly reasonable questions. After a moment of indecision, he snapped, "I'll give you a ride."

* * *

><p><em>This<em>, thought Suzaku, is _supremely awkward_.

Instead of R2 exiting his dorm in a dramatic huff and leaving Suzaku in peace, the immortal was clinging to his back and being chauffeured by him. Leaving Suzaku's callous words still suspended in the air between them.

R2 felt like the silence would smother them both if he didn't say something soon. So he brought up something that was genuinely on his mind: "Why do you keep this antique? Hoverbikes are quite affordable these days –"

Suzaku wouldn't take any slights directed at his dearly loved motorcycle. "I _rescued_ it," he said tersely. "It was sitting in the scrap heap, just waiting to be demolished, for no other reason than the fact that it was outmoded. Somehow I knew that there was still some life in it."

"So you just took it?"

"Well… yes," Suzaku replied earnestly. "I couldn't just leave it there. And obviously no one else wanted it."

R2 watched the hoverbikes that dotted the road here and there, all sleek white and chrome and coldness and conformity, and then leaned over slightly to stroke the smooth, cherry-red surface of Suzaku's motorcycle, which was very much rooted to the ground. "You know… I think I like it," he murmured. "It has character." He sat back in his seat and relaxed his hold around Suzaku's waist, watching the multicolored city lights that dotted the inky darkness of night like jewels on an infinite tapestry. It was beautiful, what Japan had become; he'd been witness to its growth in the last century, watched it make incredible technological advances such as the hovering vehicles alongside them while still retaining the conviction that, no matter how much time passed, the land itself would remain ageless. And at the same time it was a terrible thing, a monster rearing the paradoxical twin heads of advancement and regression. One head entrancingly beautiful, the other a snarling, ugly blight on what would have otherwise been the personification of perfection. Humankind had finally come to respect the earth and what it had to offer; before it was too late they'd realized that if they didn't want the world to destroy itself, it was they who had to take action. It was evident in the stars that could be clearly seen dotting the night sky, a formidable rival to the lights of the city, pollution no longer smothering their brilliance. In lucid rivers and vivid green grass and rain that didn't bite and burn at the skin it touched. People had learned to coexist with the world they'd been given. So why not each other? When Lelouch vi Britannia had disappeared from the face of the earth, replaced by an entity known only as R2, he'd expected that he'd leave behind a place free of violence and hatred. Of course it didn't work out that way; he'd been naïve to believe it would be that easy. There was still prejudice, still corruption, still opposing factions who had the threat of war looming over them. Relics of the old world that shouldn't have had a place in the new one.

A relic. That was what Suzaku's motorcycle was – something left behind in humanity's quest to move forward. And R2, Lelouch, whatever name he went by, knew why he suddenly felt a kinship with it. It was because he was a relic as well.

* * *

><p>All too quickly – or too slowly, perhaps – they had arrived at the complex where R2 lived, an old-fashioned Britannian building of wrought-iron balconies and oak-wood doors. Nothing special, but pleasant enough, and not at all conspicuous; ideal for one who needed to steer clear of people as much as possible lest suspicions arise as to why they didn't age. And all too quickly, they scaled wrought-iron steps leading up to the second floor, and a door that, frighteningly enough, was now the only barrier between the two men and a potential attacker lying in wait. Suzaku watched R2 dig a key out of his pants pocket – Suzaku's pants (slightly too long, its owner couldn't help but note) – and insert it into its slot. Fingers that trembled ever so slightly in trepidation made no effort to turn it, however.<p>

"I… I've got your back," Suzaku stammered. "In case there's… someone in there."

R2 nodded curtly. "Right." That was it – no snarky remark, no cynical riposte. Without another word he opened the door, and as it creaked on its hinges Suzaku didn't dare breathe, lest he trigger some unseen force to work against them.

The door swung out to its fullest, and in a moment of relief Suzaku took note that there wasn't anyone waiting to ambush them.

However, the moment was painfully fleeting, as the reality was arguably much worse. Because Suzaku, with his extensive military training, could have taken on almost anyone in physical combat. What lay before them, though, there was no way he could remedy.

The room was utterly desecrated. Not a single piece of furniture remained intact: tables overturned, the broken contents of kitchen cupboards strewn about the floor, a potted plant on its side with a smattering of dirt littering the carpet. A well-worn black couch was violently slashed open to the point that it was barely recognizable, stuffing oozing obscenely through its tattered ribs. Suzaku couldn't help but morbidly think that it looked like some pitiful gutted animal, killed only for the sake of giving someone an opportunity to kill. A steel-gray filing cabinet with all of its drawers ajar was surrounded by a chaotic mountain of its contents, papers littering the floor in a haphazard pile of white and pastel.

But the saddest part of the room, which Suzaku could only imagine must have previously been its crowning jewel, was the enormous floor-to-ceiling bookshelf. Books were uncommon objects, an ode to long-outdated methods of documenting information. In this day and age, who wanted to lug around a bunch of heavy tomes when they could simply carry a slim piece of silicon with thousands, even millions of them, compacted behind a digital screen? There were still printing companies that churned out the antiquated things, as well as small bookstores like the one Suzaku had visited earlier that day, but they were few and far between, and their purpose was purely to indulge eccentrics who collected them as vintage items. Suzaku had seen them in Dr. Ashford's office, but hadn't thought that much of it – if anyone qualified as an eccentric, the headmaster did, after all. But R2… Suzaku could only guess at how many books the immortal possessed, could only guess at the timeline they spanned.

Those books, a monument to timeless knowledge, were now laying on the floor, splayed open in all sorts of undignified ways, tossed aside as if they were refuse. Spines snapped, pages half-ripped, they looked like birds whose flight had been ruthlessly cut short, leaving them to plummet to the ground and lie there broken. The once-imposing bookshelf was now pathetically, laughably empty.

The ruin before R2 was reflected in his shock-widened eyes. He clenched his hands into quivering fists and walked slowly towards the heap of books. It felt like his feet never quite touched the ground as he did so – he felt like a husk of a person, frail and see-through, that could be whisked away by the wind without a moment's notice.

Suzaku watched him go and was torn between lending him his presence and allowing him to absorb the wreckage alone, at peace. In this situation, he had no idea how R2 would react. Would he lash out at Suzaku if he came too close? Did he want solitude?

R2 had experienced solitude for over a century. Suzaku decided it was a century too long.

He took small, cautious steps towards where R2 was now crouching, curled into a timid ball as if in a pitiful effort to protect himself from any more suffering. Before he reached him, a strange, garbled noise escaped his shuddering form.

The immortal was crying.

It was a dry, dusty sort of crying, like he hadn't used it in a long, long time and so had forgotten how to properly use it. It wracked his thin frame in uncontrollable spasms, before he summoned up the dignity to keep it under control and reduce it to barely noticeable shivering.

Suzaku only hesitated for a second before stepping forward, next to R2. He didn't offer him words or a shoulder to cry on – he knew that would be pushed away. So he simply offered him the fact that he was there, squatting down to his level as an equal.

He thought R2 wept because he was overwhelmed by the sacrilege before him, which he must have been, to a certain degree. But he noticed that R2 was in fact clutching something in his hands. A framed photograph of a young girl with honey-colored hair, closed eyes lined by long thick lashes and the telltale wrinkles of a smile in the making. And a younger, more carefree R2 behind her, the love he held for her obvious in the curve of his lips and the tenderness in his eyes. His sister, Suzaku inferred, noting the resemblance between the two. He wondered what it must have been like to watch her grow old while R2 himself remained forever young; what it must have been like to see her die, cursed with the knowledge that he could never join her. Suzaku couldn't even begin to fathom it.

The glass coating the photograph had been shattered; jagged shards jutted out at dangerous angles, and Suzaku realized with alarm that they were digging into R2's hands, drawing pearls of blood.

"You're bleeding!" he cried, and R2 looked up at him with eyes that were suddenly very tired. For the first time since they'd met, Suzaku could see all of the years of the immortal's life behind them.

"It doesn't matter," he replied hollowly. "They'll heal in an instant anyway." A rogue tear spilled onto the image, refracting and distorting the left side of his younger self's face.

Suzaku briefly wondered what it was exactly he was doing right now. Not half an hour ago he'd loathed R2 with a passion for unceremoniously intruding on his life and giving him a power he didn't want. And now, he was feeling… what was it he was feeling? It took him a few moments to identify it. Pity? No… empathy. There was a difference. Pity would mean nothing more than Suzaku watching R2's anguish from the outside, safely protected by a glass wall so as not to tread on it himself and dirty his shoes. Empathy meant that Suzaku knew what R2 was feeling all too well. Because though their lives were quite different, they stemmed from the same sad, incontrovertible fact.

They were both alone.

"Come on," Suzaku said hoarsely.

Something in R2's eyes stirred, or maybe that was just Suzaku's imagination. "What?"

"Come on," he repeated, and this time it was a command. He took R2's hand, not caring about the blood that had smeared itself onto his palm, and pulled him to his feet. "We're not staying here."

* * *

><p>They drove back to Ashford in silence. It was a rich, thrumming sort of silence, heavy with all sorts of unspoken possibilities, and so this time neither of them felt the need to dispel it.<p>

* * *

><p>Once again Suzaku claimed the provisional bed on the floor, despite R2's insistence that it was only fair that they switch. They settled in their respective sleeping arrangements, the lights went out, and Suzaku decided that this was the right time to voice what had been weighing on his mind.<p>

"R2," he began, feeling grateful at this particular moment for the darkness. "I'm sorry. About before. The things I said. I… I was out of line."

He heard R2 chuckle through the blanket of shadows, and Suzaku knew then with an onrush of relief that it would be all right. The immortal said mirthfully, "Yes, I have to admit I was rather shocked. That prim little Japanese mouth of yours can be vulgar when it wants to be."

Suzaku's face flushed, and for some absurd reason he worried that R2 could somehow see it. "Don't try to guilt me into apologizing again!"

"I would do nothing of the sort," R2 replied, and Suzaku was, for once, glad to hear the trademark amused sarcasm in his tone. He took it as a sign that R2 was still his cynical, scathing, and admittedly insufferable self, and for that he took comfort in the fact that his harsh words hadn't created a permanent rift between them.

And then R2 surprised him by saying with complete sincerity, "I believe an apology is in order from my side as well." When he was met only with unreadable silence, he continued, "When I gave you your geass, it was a completely spur-of-the-moment decision. I didn't once think of how it might affect you, how complicated and messy your life could become. And I should have. I should know more than anyone how a geass can ruin a man. But it seems like I've forgotten in my old age."

Neither of them spoke for a while after that, and Suzaku deemed this day one filled with silence of all kinds.

Finally he said, "I want to learn how to control my geass. So I don't hurt anyone with it. And… I want you to be the one to help me." He hoped he hadn't sounded too demanding… but no, this was the least R2 could do for him.

He expected R2 to put up a fuss, but he simply replied with, "All right, fair enough." Then he added, rather enigmatically, "But I can only do so much. The rest has to be you, and you alone."

"What do you mean?"

R2 explained, "Geass can be affected by its user's emotional state. Maybe the reason you're having trouble with it at this point is because…?" He left the assumption hanging, for Suzaku to complete in his mind.

Suzaku bristled. "Are you calling me emotionally unstable?"

"Perhaps."

He sighed in resignation; he wasn't about to deny that his emotional state wasn't exactly at its healthiest. "Are you going to ask why?"

He was answered with a firm, honest "No," for which he was grateful. "I don't inquire about other people's emotional states, Suzaku, for fear that they ask about my own."

Suzaku wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he settled for an intelligent "Oh."

"That was a joke. At least in part."

"Oh," Suzaku said again, and released a weak, breathy noise that could have been a chuckle.

"Judging by your reaction, it could use a little work."

More silence, a companionable one. Suzaku hated to break it once again, but he needed to know: "The Order of Cornelia. Why would they go so far as to raid your apartment? Who _are_ they? And… why were they chasing you?"

A pause, and then, "Concerning your first question… a search conducted to see if there was any evidence as to my current location. The amount of destruction wrought on it was rather unnecessary, done simply to spite me."

"And the second and third question?" Suzaku tried not to sound too eager. He wasn't normally the prying type, but this particularly unique situation of theirs, he didn't want to remain in the dark forever.

R2 yawned. "Those will be answered in due time. For now… we sleep."

As exhaustion finally took hold of Suzaku's own limbs, he could hear the grin in R2's voice as he added, "It _is_ my first day of school tomorrow after all."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>: "Expect multiple chapters posted very close together as soon as I get back!"

Well that turned out well.

I think it's obvious by now that I fail at meeting my own deadlines, and for that I'm sorry. I shouldn't make promises I can't keep. I managed to get a grand total of half a chapter done in Maine, while the rest of the time I was boogeyboarding and basking in the sun on the beach. Not that that's an excuse. I could have worked on it some more when I got back. Trust me, I tried. But some things have come up. I'm not using them as complete pretext for not keeping my promise, but they're definitely a contributing factor.

My parents have caught on to this fanfic-writing hobby of mine, and they're not at all pleased.

My dad (not aware of the gay factor): "If you have enough time on your hands to write this mindless anime crap, then get a job!"

My mom (too aware of the gay factor): "You can write porn as much as you want when you're twenty-one. But not while you're under my roof."  
>Me: (blunt) "It's not porn."<br>Mom: "What is it, then?"  
>Me: "It's a story about two characters who I think would be an amazing couple, and who just happen to both be guys."<br>Mom: "I have nothing against homosexuality. But this obsession of yours is just weird."  
>Me: ...<p>

So basically they both think it's a waste of time, and whenever I get on the computer these days they're constantly hounding me and asking me what I'm doing. There's only so much a sixteen-year-old yaoi fangirl can take. So I haven't been writing as much lately as I wish I could.

I love my parents, don't get me wrong. I really do. But sometimes I just wish they'd give me a little more space.

I'm also trying to write a book at the moment. I recently reached the two-hundred-page mark, which made me fully aware of the fact that this is real, and I could actually get it published if I ever finished it. That realization has put a good deal of pressure on me, and I'm not enjoying writing it now as much as I should be. Which is why I turned to fanfic writing so I wouldn't go crazy. My dad thought I was working on my book all the time, so when he found out that a good chunk of that time was being devoted instead to "anime crap", it pissed him off a little. More than a little actually.

So yeah, long story short, my parents, God bless them, are making fanfic-writing extremely difficult for me at this point in time. I don't know how long it will last. It'll probably be worse once school starts. At this point I really don't know how often updates are going to be. They will be sporadic. They may be far between. But whatever happens, whatever I have to deal with, I will continue writing. Because I love doing this. It's a rare constant in my otherwise hectic life. And I'm not going to let something as petty as parental disapproval prevent me from doing what I love.

Sorry for my monster rant... ^^;; I just needed to get that off my chest. Thank you to those who read and review my work. You've all been really supportive (and patient!), and it really means a lot to me. Thank you to my wonderful beta for listening to this rant in person (which is a lot scarier), and for staying with me thus far.

So until next time, (because there _will_ be a next time, whenever that may be. That's a promise I can actually keep.)

Byronic Heroine ^-^


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Notes: **I'm alive!

And ashamed.

Over three months ago, I went on a huge rant about how difficult it was for me to post my fic online. You guys were unbelieveably supportive, and the kind reviews I received from you admittedly brought tears to my eyes. Thank you all for your patience, and for sticking around for so long. I apologize for taking so long to update. And even more, I apologize for my hypocrisy: complaining about how hard it is to write, and then updating my account with, not a new chapter, but a completely random one-shot. The truth is, I don't have much time or freedom to write... but when I do, I write whatever hits me. Which might not always be of a Lelouch x Suzaku nature. I'm sorry for disappointing you guys. Just so you know, posts in the future won't always be new chapters of this fic; sometimes they'll be oneshots of a completely different fandom. If that sounds selfish... that's probably because it is -.- You guys are saints for faithfully waiting like you have, and for that I thank you again.

My wonderful beta also deserves to be recognized. It was her idea for me to get in the habit of keeping a notebook, wherein I would handwrite my work whenever I had a moment, before passing it off for her to type up. It's through her selflessness and time that this chapter was able to be posted. She would like me to publicly proclaim her stunning beauty, cunning wit, and superb intelligence, as well as her overwhelming generosity and unchallenged creative abilities. And did I mention stunning beauty?

I bet you didn't think I'd follow your request word for word, now, did you hon? ;P

Thank you all for your awesomeness. And, without further ado (I'm sure I'm putting you all to sleep by now), here's Chapter 6! ^-^ My longest yet at precisely six thousand words. (Not including these lengthy notes.) I do believe the chapters will get progressively longer... at least that's my intention...

Okay, I'll shut up now.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

The nightmares were plaguing him again.

This particular vision was more chaotic than that of last night. The images flashed by in a barely coherent blur; the one thing that unified them all was that hateful color red. Red sky, red fire, red walls of stone.

And then a lake of red. R2 broke through the surface, facing away from Suzaku, rivulets of blood cascading down his bare back. There was that symbol between his shoulder blades – a bird with wings outstretched, the mark of Geass. It was colored a vicious crimson as well, throbbing with a horrible radiance.

He rose out of the pool, entirely naked and still coated in blood, a twisted, mangled form of a creature just escaped from the womb in a birth gone wrong.

Suzaku was lying on his back now, for some reason unable to move – completely vulnerable. R2 was straddling him, trailing a hand along his side. "Where's your sin, Suzaku?" he murmured. "Is it here?" He held Suzaku's hand for a moment, examined it with his brow furrowed in consternation. "No, not there. Perhaps here?" He cradled Suzaku's immobile head in his hands, smoldering violet eyes examining fear-stricken green ones. "No. It's not here." Hot, searching hands pushed up the hem of Suzaku's shirt, exposing his torso. "I can't see it," R2 muttered in agitation, "But I know it's there." He laughed then, a maniacal, abrasive laugh that had forsaken any vestiges of sanity and teetered into the abyss of sadism. A single bloodstained finger trailed coyly from the center of Suzaku's chest to his navel. "You're trying to hide it from me, aren't you?" R2 accused, stifling an unsteady giggle. He bent his head forward until it was held only a few inches above Suzaku's, and whispered, "You hid it deeper. I'll have to dig for it." He held a glinting blade in his hands, and suddenly he was plunging it into Suzaku's chest, carving slow lines through his flesh.

Suzaku couldn't scream out loud, so he screamed inside, the loudest scream he'd ever uttered. He screamed silently as the dagger lit his insides on fire, and through it all R2 grinned; but it was an empty grin, devoid of any soul.

When he'd finished an eternity later, R2 sat back on Suzaku's thighs and observed his handiwork with glee. Suzaku stared up at him blankly, his spirit slain and trickling from his deadened eyes in the form of silent tears. On his chest was a hideous, impossibly bloody version of the Geass sigil that R2 wore on his back.

R2 laughed again like one possessed and beyond all redemption, completely unhinged. "There, we match!"

_No!_ Suzaku cried, though R2 couldn't hear it. _No no no no no, not real not real not real not real not real_… he clung to the mantra like he had nothing else left. _You're not R2, you're not real, you're not you're not you're not_…

R2's grinning, spectral form evaporated, along with the demonic, boiling red lake.

Suzaku was in some sort of sitting room, an old-fashioned, Britannian-style lounge with an impressive stone fireplace and a large curtained window. He sat in an overstuffed armchair, and when he looked down at his hands they were those of a ten-year-old, not a near adult.

A well-built man in a business suit stood before the window, his silhouette blocking whatever lay beyond Suzaku's vision. His back was to Suzaku, but Suzaku knew with a child's blind conviction that it was his father.

"Well done, my son," Genbu said, without turning his head. "You saw past the illusion. You saw past everything." He stared silently at something Suzaku couldn't see.

"What are you doing, Otou-sama?" Suzaku inquired with the voice of a boy who'd retained his innocence.

"Looking at the view."

Suzaku declared, "I want to see too!" and began to slide from the seat of the chair.

"No!" Genbu uttered the word harshly, nearly shouted it, making his son flinch. "You must never look, Suzaku! Be a good boy, stay in that chair. Never come near the window, ever, do you understand?" He stood stock-still and continued to look outside the constraints of the room.

When Suzaku was sure his father wasn't looking, he invested all the stealth that he could into his ten-year-old form and stood silently, pacing slowly towards the window and its promises.

"Insolent fool! How dare you disobey me?" Genbu boomed, and Suzaku cringed, wanting out of that room, to be anywhere but there.

His father finally turned around and faced him, and Suzaku was met with the hardened lines of a familiar stern face. But where the earthy brown irises of his eyes should have been, there were instead two cruelly blazing Geass sigils.

"Fine, then, if you want to look so badly!" Genbu roared, and seized Suzaku by the hair.

Suzaku's face was violently smashed against the cold, unforgiving glass, and when he finally looked through it at the view he'd craved so badly, all he saw was black. Not the black of night; no, this was the black of a void that he would never be able to escape from.

He screamed again, and like before, it was not his voice that screamed, but his soul. Or whatever was left of it.

But this time was different, too. He heard another scream – no, it was just an echo of his own, he realized – faintly reverberating from somewhere impossibly far away, beyond the cursed room, maybe even beyond the void. And then, from somewhere equally distant, he felt something cool and soothing press against his forehead, stroking it gently, and a soft, hushed voice murmuring things he couldn't discern. With every touch, every whisper, his terrible surroundings seemed to dissolve, until they'd faded into a completely different kind of black. _This_ darkness beckoned kindly, benevolently, and Suzaku was happy to follow it wherever it led him.

* * *

><p>When he finally awoke, a name was on his lips.<p>

But a quick glance around his room told him that R2 was already gone.

* * *

><p>High school was, in every sense of the word, a jungle.<p>

First of all, there was an established food chain that could never be subverted without defying the will of natural law itself. At the top were the well-groomed predators that dominated the scene, and made sure that everyone knew it too – the jocks, the homecoming court, the polished and gorgeous girls who would sooner commit murder than relinquish their alpha statuses to a lower life form. And there was the middle class, those creatures who were swiftly overtaken by the highest level of the chain but were relieved not to be on the bottom – the preps, the school club attendees, the overachievers who existed for no other reason than to have perfect cookie-cutter college applications. And then there were the nerds. The geeks, the dorks, the outsiders; whatever the upper class chose to label them as. These were the little bugs, and unless they somehow found a way to adapt, they didn't last very long in a place that was overridden by beings that were inherently superior. If they weren't eaten, they were simply crushed. Though wasn't there a scientific study that said that, even if all other organisms died out, the bugs would remain and rule the earth…?

And then there was the environment itself: hostile, inclement, chaotic. Adapt or die. Survival of the fittest.

Chances are if you asked someone if they wanted to go through high school again, they would either laugh at the sheer absurdity of the question or just give you a long, strange look.

The reason that R2 had willingly opted to repeat the entire ordeal was completely beyond him at this point in time.

Yet there he was, standing in a setting he never thought he'd be immersed in again: that of an Ashford Academy classroom.

"Class," called out Mr. So-and-So, some bland English teacher who R2 had already forgotten the name of. "As you can see, we have a new student. I'm sure you'll all do your part to make, err...Rivalz...feel welcome here."

"Riv-_al_," R2 said with a gracious smile, correcting the man on his pronunciation of the "z" that should have been silent. _Come to think of it, _he wondered, _what the hell is up with that silent "z," anyway?_ The tortures of roll call that his friend must have gone through...

"Please take a seat, Rivalz. Anywhere is fine," the teacher – Mr. Haldersen? – said.

R2 had had enough of being ogled at, standing in the front of the room, and so had no problem obeying that particular command.

A cloud of dreamy sighs followed him as he walked down the aisle, and something near his temple twitched in irritation. He was attractive, and he knew it – yes, he certainly knew it – but did all of the females in the classroom have to act live lovestruck, dewy-eyed schoolgirls? He'd not been in the room for five minutes and already they were pining for him.

He searched for a seat that wasn't situated near some dull Neanderthal or infatuated ditz already marking him as her soul mate, and settled for one next to a jaded-looking girl with bubblegum-pink hair who didn't even try to hide the fact that she was playing with some sort of electronic device.

She held the thing up and pressed a button that made a satisfied beep. "Recorded," she said in a bored tone. "A new student's first day of being force-fed pre-selected literature for the express purpose of regurgitating the material in a trite, pandering essay during a standardized test. Welcome to English class." The snap of her gum was loud enough to be mistaken for a gunshot. "I'm Anya, by the way. Not that you'd likely be interested, but we might as well carry out the typical pleasantries for the sake of being accepted by civilized society." She began to doodle a Knightmare Frame over half-finished notes on _The Scarlet Letter_.

She had an even more cynical take on life than R2 did. He had a feeling that they would get along swimmingly.

"Nice to meet you, Anya," R2 said with a benevolent smile.

Dark rose eyes surveyed him blankly as she assessed, "You seem to be tolerable. Would you like to be fellow-sufferers?"

R2 blinked, staring at the proffered hand before him for only a second before taking it in his own. For such a small girl, Anya's grip was surprisingly firm.

"I'd be honored," R2 said, and they shook on it.

Anya conjured up a box of crayons and began to color her Knightmare pink.

R2 reflected that this might not be so bad, after all.

* * *

><p>Of course, reflections were feeble things, only as strong as the conviction of the mind that conceived it, liable to change at any moment.<p>

In R2's case, that moment happened to be during his next class, math.

R2 loved mathematics, the coldly beautiful structure of numbers, the hidden patterns and elegant theorems. He excelled at math. The class itself wasn't the problem; rather, it was a particularly troublesome creature by the name of Gino Weinberg.

As soon as (under the direction of his teacher) he sat down next to the blond adolescent – all seven-odd feet of him – Gino had flashed him a jovial grin and introduced himself. Things would have been fine, if he'd just stopped there. But for some reason, he insisted on continuing to talk, nonstop. Even half an hour later, he was _still _jabbering away. No topic was too random or outlandish for him. So far they'd discussed the Britannian bussing system, the trite yet frighteningly addicting phenomenon that was reality TV, the debate over the existence of the Loch Ness monster, the latest action projection showing in theatres ("The plot makes no sense; it's as messy as my dorm room...but that one actress is hot..."), the beauty of microwave popcorn, Empress Adalene's most recent televised speech, every bone fracture that Gino had experienced during his lifetime, and how the exponential decay graphs that they were studying could be applied to the lengths of the skirts of the girls' uniforms ("I _swear_ they're getting shorter every year...I guess the headmaster's getting pervy in his old age!"). Or rather, _Gino_ was the one whose mouth was constantly engaged, in the manner of a high-speed locomotive. R2 merely listened, or at least gave the impression that he was listening, when in reality he was a few eyebrow twitches away form sewing the kid's mouth shut with a dull needle. Did he ever stop talking? There was being polite and making small talk with the new student to encourage him to feel at home, and then, on the extreme end of the spectrum, there was Gino. Anyone who was that ridiculously friendly must possess some sort of ulterior motive, R2 concluded. There was no other way to explain it. Did this guy even breathe? It seemed that there wasn't enough of a pause anywhere for him to do so amidst the writhing, tortuous spiral of chaotic energy that was his speech.

"...So hopefully things haven't been too bad," Gino was saying, and R2 forced himself to tune in, just so it would _look_ like he was involved in the conversation instead of wistfully longing for a more pleasant fate, perhaps chaining himself to a rock alongside Prometheus and having his liver ripped out of his body by an eagle on a daily basis.

"As schools go, Ashford's pretty cool," Gino continued. "At any rate, it's not four years of your life entirely wasted. Sooo...ya make any other friends yet?"

'_Other?_' R2 thought to himself irately. _How presumptuous._

"Perhaps," he conceded, thinking of the rose-haired girl with the bone-dry sense of humor who had appointed him as her "fellow-sufferer." "There's a girl in my English class who shows some potential." He wondered belatedly why Gino had chosen to plow through ten other topics of conversation before finally settling on something that was actually relevant to their situation.

Gino raised a golden-yellow eyebrow and inquired, "And whom might this young woman be?"

Violet eyes squinted as R2 searched his hopelessly cluttered mental archive for the girl's name. "Anya. Anya...Alstreim, I think it was?"

Gino grinned. "And what do you think of her?"

R2 sucked in a breath and replied, "She's...special."

"Yes, she certainly is," Gino agreed, chuckling. But his twinkling blue eyes suddenly took on more seriousness as he added, "She's a good kid though. A bit unorthodox, more than a bit cynical...but a good person. The affection's there...she just has a funny way of showing it, most of the time." His eyes softened as he spoke. "Did you know she's only fourteen years old?"

R2's eyes widened a little at that. Well, it _would_ explain why she was so petite.

Gino registered R2's surprise and continued, "Yeah, she skipped three grades. She's brilliant...but it makes her kind of unapproachable, y'know? Doesn't have too many friends. But I can proudly say that I'm one of them. Me and her go back a long way."

R2 tried to visualize the strange pair – the towering blond with the perpetual broad gin, and the tiny fragile-looking girl with pink hair and a constantly world-weary expression. They seemed completely at odds, and yet, they somehow strangely fit together. Gino obviously genuinely cared for her, and it seemed like he looked out for her, too. R2 found himself viewing Gino in a more respecting light after taking notice of this. Maybe in time, Gino could prove to be a valuable friend, too.

"...So where was I before...right, exponential skirt decay!"

Eventually. Maybe.

* * *

><p>R2's next class, History, presented him with a familiar face.<p>

Suzaku had been scanning over the past week's notes when he'd registered that the usual din of two-dozen students all chattering at once, the customary prelude to the start of class, had died down prematurely. He glanced upwards in curiosity, and was greeted with the sight of R2 standing at the front of the classroom, wearing a slim-fitting Ashford uniform, and a subtle, reserved smile. Their instructor went through the usual spiel about making the new student feel more welcome, which Suzaku only half-listened to. He did, however, take interest in R2's self-introduction, in which he stated his name as Rivalz Cardemonde. Suzaku wondered whether it was his real name or simply another alias.

Musings that abruptly dissolved, as he was jolted back to reality by the fact that R2 was taking the empty seat next to him.

Agitated murmuring broke out around them, ranging from jealous to bewildered to spiteful. That was the new student, an undeniably handsome youth with dazzling violet eyes and a mysterious, magnetic aura, was sitting next to a Japanese, of his own volition, when there were plenty of empty seats elsewhere...it made no sense.

Despite the evident vocalizations of disapproval surrounding them, R2 held out his hand and said pleasantly, "Hello. And you are...?"

Suzaku gaped at him wordlessly for a few moments before catching on. _Oh, right_...it would seem strange if R2 acted like they already knew each other, wouldn't it? He was simply taking precautions.

Suzaku clasped R2's hand in his and shook firmly. "I'm Suzaku," he replied, playing along. He then added quietly, "Look, you don't have to do this. You still have a chance to sit somewhere else. If you don't, you're just condemning yourself."

"I'm perfectly comfortable where I am," R2 responded briskly.

Seeing that it would be futile to try and reason with him, Suzaku closed his eyes and sighed in resignation. "Fine, then. You just sealed your own fate." But he couldn't help but feel pleased that R2 had chosen him, had singled him out from the rest of the class; of course, no one could ever know that, especially not R2 himself.

As the day's lesson began, said immortal busied himself with scanning through the virtual text he'd just been issued. After a few minutes, he jabbed the "off" button in disgust and muttered, "This book is grossly biased. The Shinjuku Ghetto incident wasn't the killing of Britannian infantry by Japanese liberation forces; it was a massacre of innocent victims by the Britannian army."

Suzaku surveyed the fuming student in confusion. "How would you know...?" Then, as realization hit, yet another intelligent, "Oh."

He predicted that history class was about to become much more interesting, what with a piece of the past sitting right next to him.

* * *

><p>French class passed without a hitch - R2 was already fluent in the language (he'd already had plenty of time to study it, after all...along with five other languages), so he really only half-listened to the teacher rattle off conjugations, and didn't bother to take notes.<p>

A glance at his schedule told him that he had lunch next period. He made his way to the cafeteria without any problems finding his way – it was suddenly like no time had passed at all since he'd last been a student here.

Once he's acquired a sandwich and bottled water, he scanned the tables of students engaged in conversation for anyone he recognized from his classes so far. His eyes alighted on Gino across the high-ceilinged room; Gino was trying to talk between fits of laughter, with Anya sitting next to him, actually _smiling_ as she simultaneously listened to his story and fiddled with that odd little gadget of hers. Perhaps sensing that R2's eyes were focused on them, she looked up and found his gaze. She tapped Gino on the shoulder, and his blue eyes wavered uncertainly for a moment before locating what Anya was pointing at. Recognizing R2, his face creased into an impossibly wide grin, and he raised his arm in a ridiculous wave that came dangerously close to smacking nearby students to the floor.

R2 caught himself smiling back – Gino's perpetually sunny demeanor was catching, it seemed – and began to walk toward them, when his eyes wandered to the right, as if somehow drawn by something. He found that it was Suzaku, sitting at his own table amidst the chattering groups around him. He didn't look sullen or otherwise bothered by the fact that he was alone; he simply went about eating his lunch with a thoughtful look on his face, seemingly unaffected by his solitude. R2 watched him for a moment, and then turned back to Gino and Anya. He made a vague, sweeping motion with his right hand in the general direction of Suzaku's table, hoping that the strange pair across the room wouldn't be offended. Gino merely shrugged and waved again before turning back to the tiny girl next to him.

Suzaku heard the scrape of a chair against the floor, and suddenly R2 was sitting next to him, busying himself with unwrapping his sub. The immortal regarded him out of the corner of his eye and asked frankly, "Do you always eat alone?"

Having accepted his solitude as unavoidable at his point, it really didn't bother him; nevertheless, Suzaku felt his face heat up as he stammered, "Yeah. I don't really mind, though." He was then seized with the mortifying suspicion that perhaps R2 was sitting with him now out of pity. In a flurry of words that jumped from one to the next while still only half-formed, he said quickly, "Don't just sit next to me because you feel sorry for me or something. I really don't care; you can sit somewhere else if you-"

"Suzaku," R2 cut in, rolling his eyes. "I'm sitting here because I want to. So stop your yammering and just eat."

Suzaku found that to be enough to reassure him and complied with R2's blunt command.

His thoughts flashed back to last night, to the horrendous nightmare that had held his heart and mind captive, and then the cool, soothing hand on his forehead that had made the terrifying visions melt away. He wanted to say something, to verify if any of it had been even happened at all, and if so, why? But his treacherous tongue refused to cooperate for some reason, and the words that came out of his mouth instead were, "Can I see your schedule? I didn't really get a chance to ask back in History." As soon as he said it, he was angry with himself, angry for taking a coward's route instead of simply asking what he wanted to know. It was just a nightmare – why was that so hard to bring up? He wondered if maybe it was just because, in actuality, he _didn't _wantto know the answer.

R2 interrupted his self-berating by wordlessly passing him his schedule. Suzaku unfolded the piece of paper and mentally compared it with his own. "You have gym first thing in the morning. So do I; how come I didn't see you there?"

R2 shuddered at the word "gym," finding it irreconcilable with anything pertaining to happiness. "I skipped," he answered, curling his lip in distaste.

Suzaku stared at him quizzically. "That's not the best way to start your first day here. You might want to consider – what is with that _face_?" R2 looked like he'd swallowed a screwdriver while simultaneously getting kicked in the gonads.

"For the most part I look back fondly on my days at Ashford," the new student said weakly. "I have many happy memories of this place. However, P.E...is not...one of them..."the entirety of his thin frame was wracked with another shudder, and Suzaku wondered if maybe R2 had gone through some sort of psychological trauma.

"Umm...are you all right?" he asked, a bit concerned.

"I'm fine!" R2 snapped, suddenly defensive. "I'm just...not exactly athletic, that's all."

Suzaku had a ridiculous, unprecedented vision of R2 huffing and gasping as he jogged around a track, and had to stifle a smirk. The image was completely at odds with the proud, almost arrogant air that R2 projected.

R2 didn't miss the poorly smothered grin. He narrowed his eyes and _hmph_ed in an almost wounded way, tearing a rather ferocious bite out of his sandwich. He froze in the midst of another bite when he felt the uncomfortable weight of Suzaku's gaze, keenly transfixed on him.

"What are you staring at?" he demanded, annoyed. "It's a little unsettling."

Suzaku blinked slowly, as though just realizing himself what he'd been doing, and his face reddened. "Sorry, it's just...never mind. It's stupid."

"Try me."

Suzaku bit his lip in embarrassment and said, "I just wasn't sure if immortals...if you..."

"If we _eat_?"

Suzaku nodded hurriedly, latching his gaze onto some nonexistent speck on the tabletop.

R2 gestured at his half-eaten sub and said in exasperation, "Well, you got your answer, didn't you?" He rolled his eyes and chuckled mirthfully. "Of course we eat; we need sustenance as much as you do. My immortal sure could have attested to that."

Suzaku's heart suddenly quickened, excited at the possibility of knowing more about he enigma that was R2, and his murky past. Finding an opening, he asked, "What was your immortal like?"

"C2? What indeed," R2's eyes lost some of their focus as he struggled to pull up the old memories that had been submersed beneath newer ones. "She had bright green hair. A really obnoxious shade of green. She was constantly stuffing her face with pizza like there was no tomorrow, and to this day, I don't know where it all went. Her thighs, perhaps? Anyway, let's see...she was sinfully lazy, never did I thing I asked her to so, and when I _didn't_ want her to do anything, she was suddenly willful and rebellious, gallivanting off to god knows where. Quite frankly, she was intolerable; a real witch. And yet, somehow...she was one of the truest friends I've ever known." He wore a thoughtful, genuine smile, shaking his head in rueful amusement. Suzaku knew it was cliché, but he couldn't help but think that the smile lit up R2's face, transformed it, even.

"She sounds like...quite a woman," Suzaku said carefully.

R2 laughed lightly, lilting, "I suppose that's one way to put it."

They sat side by side and ate in a companionable silence, and for each it was the time in a while that he'd felt truly content.

Suzaku hated to break the pleasant mood that had settled over them, but he had to ask, and figured that now was as good a time as any. "R2...how would I go about learning how to control my geass?"

R2 looked up from his meal, the last vestiges of his smile dropping away. "What do you mean, exactly, by 'control'?" he asked.

"I mean...twice already, my geass has activated on a person without my consent. Both times it did not end well. I got hurt, the people involved probably got hurt...I just don't want to cause any more pain. If I knew how to properly control my geass, I'll be able to ensure that it won't be used again."

"'Won't be used again'?" R2 repeated, an edge in his voice.

Suzaku had said something wrong. He knew he should have kept his mouth shut. He mentally kicked himself; obviously R2 was irked about _something_.

"You don't plan on using your geass?" R2 asked quietly. It wasn't a soothing sort of quiet; it was the unsettling kind, like the calm before a storm.

"Well...no," Suzaku answered bluntly. "I don't see where I would really need to use it-"

"I gave you a gift," R2 growled, cutting him short. "You accepted the terms of the contract, were fully aware of the fact that you would be granted some sort of power. Why would you go through all of that and then toss it aside?"

"A 'gift'?" Suzaku quoted incredulously. "So far it's been nothing but a nuisance! I've made a fool out of myself, and out of others, and I don't want it to happen again. Which is why I want to be able to control it: so I can feel confident that it won't activate on its own accord and cause unnecessary suffering."

R2 barked a humorless laugh, entirely different from the one he'd emitted mere minutes ago. "Alright then, fine. You want to learn to control your geass? Well, here's how: you _use_ it!"

Suzaku blinked in confusion. "I don't understand."

"Practice makes perfect, as the saying goes. The same applies here. If you want to know how your geass works, you need to test it."

"On _people_?"

R2 sighed in irritation. "Well, it's not exactly going to work on a brick wall, is it?"

"Absolutely not," Suzaku said flatly.

"What?"

"I refuse to go that far. I won't treat human beings like test subjects; I won't drag any more people into something that has nothing to do with them."

"Christ, Suzaku, you're not going to burn them alive! You're just-"

"I'm just screwing with their emotions, is that it?" Suzaku interjected angrily. "You think it's fine for me to just pick up some unsuspecting victim, use my powers on them without their consent, watch them become besotted with me, and then discard them once I've obtained my results and they're no longer entertaining?" He saw the steely expression that R2 gave him and answered his own question: "Of course you do."

R2 didn't even try to deny it. He just regarded Suzaku with an intensity that was almost frightening, and then said abruptly, "Come on. I want to show you something."

Suzaku balked. "_Now_?"

"Yes, now." And Suzaku, catching sight of the icy resilience behind R2's eyes, didn't dare argue.

* * *

><p>R2 led him outside, through the gardens, along a meandering pathway, Suzaku's uncertainty growing and festering all the while. What could R2 possibly want to show him?<p>

"Whatever it is, are you sure it's still here?" he questioned.

R2 kept his gaze trained before him as he answered, "I'm almost certain."

After a few minutes, they came to a stop. R2 stared at the sight before him almost reverently and released a wild, unstable laugh that disturbingly reminded Suzaku of his dream.

"It's still here," the immortal murmured, placing a hand under his chin pensively. "After all this time."

Suzaku wasn't quite sure what he was looking at. He stood before a wall that would have been the same as any other at the academy; however, there was a key difference that was impossible to miss.

Erratic rows of crosses lined the wall from top to bottom. Some were larger than others, some were crooked; but they were all carved into the stone irreversibly, filling the space completely. The effect was cramped and claustrophobic and filled Suzaku with an unshakeable sense of unease. "What is this?" he asked, nearly whispering.

R2 stepped forward and ran a finger lightly along one of the many lines etched into the wall's surface. He looked back at Suzaku and said, over his shoulder, "My geass, as you probably recall, was to compel someone to follow any command. When I first received it, there were some questions that needed answering; for example, did I have to make eye contact for my geass to work? How long did the geass's effects last? I decided to test the latter on a student." He seemed impervious to the fact that Suzaku's hands had clenched into fists and that his gaze was cast downward at the ground, so that his flyaway hair obscured his eyes. R2 continued, "I ordered a girl to come to this spot, every day, and draw an 'X' on the wall. And, as far as I know, she'd continued to do so, every single day, since then." Only after finishing did he _really_ look at Suzaku – he turned his body towards him and saw that Suzaku's shoulders were trembling, tightly wound tension jolting up his spine.

"She wasn't hurt, Suzaku," he said softly. "It was just a little test. A harmless test."

"You don't know that," Suzaku replied hollowly. "You don't know how it could have affected her. For ho long did she have to continue doing this? A year? Five years? Ten? A lifetime? What if, for some reason, she couldn't get here one day? How much torment would it have caused her to be unable to fulfill the inexplicable need that took control of her thoughts? How much torment, to try to ignore that unwanted compulsion until it consumed her mind entirely?" The emerald eyes that regarded R2 then were wide and unblinking, haunted by something R2 wasn't quite sure how to comprehend. "Do you ever stop and think about that?"

"No," R2 responded immediately. "Dwelling on those doubts and what-ifs is pointless. It would only serve to shackle me down." His tone hardened, and he added bitterly, "A user of Geass has condemned himself to a life different from most – one that transcends the minutia of moral dilemmas. He finds that he must do whatever it takes to keep moving forward. I think that, in time, you too will have to accept this as inevitable: abandoning qualms for the sake of power."

"No..." Suzaku said hoarsely, digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands until they drew blood. R2 knew that Suzaku was trying to convince himself more than anyone else. "I won't let that happen. Whatever happened to you that could make you say something so twisted...I won't let _anything_ do the same to me."

R2 laughed mirthlessly. "You're still so naïve. You're only trying to fool yourself, thinking so idealistically...but you know, don't you? You know deep down that what you wish to be true simply _can't _be. A person endowed with power is under the delusion that he can control it, when really, it's the power that's controlling _him_. There's no way around it. Embrace your geass, Suzaku. It's already engrained in every fiber of your being - if ignored and left to its own devices, it will consume you entirely. Acknowledge it, and in return it will prove to be a most valuable asset."

Suzaku trained his eyes blankly on R2's, kept his physical appearance completely neutral as he stated, "I didn't want this."

R2's gaze softened infinitesimally as he replied, "I know."

As composed as Suzaku's exterior may have been, his insides were a roiling, churning mess. What had started out as disgust had morphed into simple, omnipotent shock that seized his limbs and his mind. Lacing through it all was hurt and hopeless confusion. R2 was telling him to abandon his morals, to instead fulfill his own goals by whatever means necessary. But his morals – or rather, their tattered remains – were all that he had left. They determined who he was. Take them away, and he would cease to be a person; instead, he'd be an empty vessel, with no identity or soul. A part of his nightmare would become a reality – when he looked through a window, he'd see only a void.

He was shocked that R2 would say such a thing, and found it completely incongruous with what he'd seen of R2 thus far. Suzaku had seen him cry for a picture of someone who was long gone. He'd felt R2 dispel the images that tormented Suzaku with kind words and gentle hands. But no, he realized now that he had only been allowing himself to see what he wanted to see.

Now he had to face the other side: R2 was ruthless. He saw everything as a potential tool that could be molded to fit his needs, and that didn't exclude people. To him, people were the most valuable tools of all, capable of nearly anything when properly manipulated by their puppetmaster. Suzaku could very well be just another one of his pawns.

Not for the first time, he was overcome with a thought that gripped his core viciously enough to make him feel nauseous: when it came down to it, he really didn't know R2 at all.

He didn't know which R2 was the real one – the one who'd helped him escape his nightmare, or the one who had been within it.

* * *

><p><strong>More Author's Notes:<strong>

1. Sooo... this chapter was a strange one. I feel like a lot happened, and yet not a lot at all... if that makes any sense... see, the truth is that I'm just a sucker for character development. I could sit on my tush and develop characters all day. I could develop away for the rest of my existence, and I'd be the happiest character-developing fangirl in the universe. But I'm sure several people don't completely share my sentiments, and wish for... you know... action. Not the romantic kind, you pervs out there (though that'll come too in due time!) but just straight-up, heart-pounding action. I feel like I've deceived people by ensnaring them with this intense first chapter full of guns and chases and supernatural shenanigans, which then dissapates into "Let's go to school!" I just want to assure readers that the action will make its return in the not-so-distant future, as I was assaulted by plot bunnies the other night. Like, the killer ones from Monty Python.

2. Please don't get the wrong idea about my parents... I needed to rant before, and I'm glad I got it off my chest. But I really do love them - God I love them - and they're only doing this out of concern that I'm going to let this hobby take over my life. I'm lucky that they care so much; they only want what's best for me. So... yeah. ^-^

3. That isn't to say that updates won't still be sporadic. Sporadic updates will be sporadic.

4. Reviews make the author frolic with the cupcakes and unicorns. And crap rainbows.

5. Which is a good thing. In some twisted way.

6. So basically, I'm a review whore.

7. I just want a number 7 because it's a really magical number.

8. I'm really screwing up the word count.

Until next time,

Byronic Heroine ^-^


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Notes:** Yes, I am alive, despite the fact that all evidence suggests otherwise.

I could go on a long-winded rant of angst and self-loathing, but I doubt you guys want to read that. I just want to thank all of my readers for continuing to stick with me despite my ridiculous updating habits. Each and every one of you has been patient and supportive and just generally awesome... I really don't deserve you all -.-

I'll just stop talking now. It's been a while, and I apologize for that... but, against all odds, here is Chapter 7!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

As the school day ended and students filed out into the hallways, Suzaku caught sight of R2, who appeared to be wandering in his direction. The irrational part of him hoped that he was mistaken in his perception, but no such luck. He had no idea how to interact with the immortal right now – not after what had happened, after such an ugly side of R2 had been revealed.

R2 fell into step next to him as they assimilated into the crowd, and Suzaku found the words, "Why so friendly? You only just met me today in class, remember?" coming out of his mouth.

R2 smiled in a way that could only be described as shy – where was that arrogance from before, that ruthlessness? – and replied, "Yes, well, the new student doesn't appreciate it when people ask him about his mysterious past. That's why he's quickly taken a liking to this man, who feels no compulsion to wheedle out other people's secrets, and happens to be more than a bit of an enigma himself."

Suzaku blinked and said, "Impressive."

R2 furrowed his brow. "Really? I find it barely satisfactory, myself. It sounds like something out of a bad teen romance novel."

"Yeah, well people our age really seem to like that sort of thing."

"People _your_ age," R2 corrected, with the slightest trace of a crooked smile.

Right. It was so easy to forget that what appeared to be an unassuming adolescent was, in reality, so much more.

Too easy. Suzaku wouldn't make the mistake of letting his guard down in such a trusting way again.

Somehow, despite the dark thoughts permeating his mind, he was able to keep up their light back-and-forth banter as they meandered through the corridors. They conversed with ease, and Suzaku wondered when and how he's allowed that to become the norm. But no, that was surely all part of R2's façade, as well: luring people in with those clever words and quiet smiles, only to suck them dry of everything they had to offer and throw away the empty shells.

The battle between instinct and wistful thinking that had been raging in his consciousness was forced into a stalemate by the fact that they had reached Suzaku's dorm room. Suzaku inserted his room key into its slot before making his way into the room. He stopped and turned back towards the doorway in puzzlement when he realized that R2 had demonstrated no intention of following him.

"Are you coming in?" he inquired, loathing the way his voice quavered with uncertainty. As though he'd already grown dependent, and on a parasite, ironically enough.

"As much as you crave my presence, I _do _possess my own room now," R2 replied wryly. "I'll be taking my leave, though our parting pains me so." Not a muscle in his face twitched as he spoke, and so Suzaku had no marker to determine how serious he was – concerning the suggestion of a tragic soliloquy, that is, not the statement about the room. That part he bought, but whether it was accompanied by relief or disappointment, he really couldn't say.

So he settled for something along the lines of, "Okay. All right, umm…bye then, I guess."

Apparently, R2's presence had the power to reduce Suzaku's skills of articulation by at least fifty percent.

Amused by this display of ineptitude, R2 gave him another one of those damned smiles and said, "Goodbye, Suzaku. Sleep well." And before Suzaku could ponder the emphasis R2 had placed on the latter sentence, the immortal was gone, lost among the uniformity of the crowd.

Suzaku would try to take those words to heart, for both of their sakes. But – and he swore to himself that R2 would never know this – he felt terribly alone as he slept that night.

* * *

><p>The mark of the Geass stared Suzaku brazenly in the face before swiftly being concealed by a crisp white t-shirt.<p>

To those who'd asked about it, R2 had written it off as a regrettable decision made during a stage of intoxication acute enough to erase any sense of judgment. This in turn had, through some twisted form of logic, earned him the respect of his school-going peers.

"So much for blending in," Suzaku muttered as the male portion of his gym class filed out of the locker room. "Saying that you got a cult symbol tattooed across your back while roaring drunk isn't exactly inconspicuous." He turned expectantly towards R2, in the hopes that he might heed at least some of the wisdom of his words.

In his own defense, R2 said, "But that is the sad state of today's youth: a story of shameless revelry and debauchery is enough to get you accepted, and therefore left alone. Free to do as you please…and fraternize with whomever you feel like without being called out on it," he finished pointedly, casting a meaningful glance Suzaku's way.

When he put it that way, it actually made sense, and Suzaku figured that as long as R2 adopted that mellifluous tone, stringing words together in just the right way, he could convince someone to drive hot bamboo shoots through their own eyeballs.

Yet another dangerous skill that R2 had no right to possess.

And speaking of dangerous skills…Suzaku was all too suddenly reminded of his own recently acquired power when he encountered Coach Villetta, who was directing a downright obscene "come hither" leer his way. As he speed-walked past her purposely avoiding her gaze, she murmured, "When you've changed your mind, stop by my office and let me know. I'll be waiting." Her voice was husky and practically dripping with all sorts of innuendo.

As soon as they'd distanced themselves from her, R2 emitted a low whistle. "Wow, Suzaku. I didn't know you had it in you."

"Shut up," Suzaku muttered, his face burning. "_This_ is what I have to deal with thanks to the so-called 'gift' you gave me: my own teacher sexually harassing me. Thanks a ton, R2."

The immortal burst out laughing, much to Suzaku's annoyance. "You must be the only hormonal young male I know of who would be unhappy to have a teacher like _that_ chasing after him."

"Well, maybe I'm not your average hormonal young male," Suzaku snapped, not willing and not caring enough to properly formulate a decent comeback. "At any rate, that's not the point. This isn't just about her. It's about my Geass as a whole. I don't want-"

R2 cut him off. "You don't want anyone to get hurt. You don't want to succumb to such a dark and unpredictable power. You don't want to lose your sense of morality. Spare me the monologue, Suzaku. I've heard too many self-righteous speeches from people like you." He had adopted a bitter tone of voice that was not at all to Suzaku's liking.

"Self-righteous?" he spluttered incredulously. "You think this is about my ego? Do I really come across as that sort of person?" He made to step ahead of R2, but was stopped by a surprisingly firm hand on his shoulder, one that turned him around and forced his gaze to latch onto amethyst eyes that were cool, severe, and hardened in their acuity. "Do you really want to know what I think, Suzaku? You strike me as the sort of person whose morals are so firmly ingrained in his identity that, were he to violate them, he would feel the need to spend the rest of his life attempting to atone for it."

Suzaku gaped at him like a fish out of water as something dark and cold plunged into the depths of his stomach and turned his blood to ice, clumsily weighing down on his limbs. Buried memories, black, ugly things, clawed their way out of the most abyssal part of his mind and danced behind his eyes, making his vision blur. He only vaguely heard R2 murmur in an oddly repentant voice, "It appears I have said something I shouldn't have," before Suzaku stumbled and fell to his knees.

Anxious mutterings erupted around him as he hovered between consciousness and blackness, reality and memories – memories of rage in his heart and a knife in his hand, and the haunting destruction they could unleash when combined. He heard Coach Villetta's alarmed voice, and a different one that said, "I'll take Kururugi to the nurse."

_Damn it._ _Why does it have to be him?_ Even with the currently sluggish state of his mind, Suzaku knew who it was that brought him to his feet and proceeded to walk him out of the gym. Eyes darting wildly under half-lowered eyelids, he dimly registered that they had made a turn where they shouldn't have – they were going not to the nurse's office, but to the dormitories.

"Why…" he croaked.

"Hush. It's your mind that ails you, not your body, and in that field I can do better than any nurse."

Time seemed to stop and skip; Suzaku found himself in one place at one moment and a different one the next, with no transition between them. The way he perceived his surroundings was disjointed, lagging, so it was with mild surprise that he realized he was now sinking into the inviting comfort of a bed, with R2 kneeling next to him. R2 leaned forward, hand outstretched, eyes aglow with a strange sort of determination, and Suzaku tensed with uncertainty as he felt the familiar – when had it become familiar? – presence of a cool hand resting against his forehead. His eyes closed without his permission before half-formed images flickered behind his eyelids. He'd seen them before, in what now felt like a different lifetime. Two parallel disks floating among the stars, a scattering of feathers, a temple in the sky surrounded by a fiery glow…

"Damn it, Suzaku, don't you have any happy memories?" he heard R2's disembodied voice mutter.

"Stay out of my mind!" he snarled, and the temple in his vision crumbled away, replaced almost instantly by a scene he'd thought to be lost to the ebb and flow of time – his family's shrine in the haze of midsummer. Wind chimes clinked softly, cicadas thrummed, and he could hear children's shrieks of laughter in the distance. He smelled freshly-sliced watermelon, and another scent, one that was uniquely summer.

_Clink_ went the chimes, and Suzaku breathed in that beloved scent till he was full to bursting with it.

_Clink_.

This was bearable. No, not just bearable – good. Life, in this place and this time, was _good_.

The wind chimes sang, a prelude to the nothingness that followed.

* * *

><p>R2 decided that he liked Suzaku Kururugi much better when he was asleep.<p>

For one, his brow didn't have that seemingly perpetual furrow to it. In this state, he was completely relaxed, his face betraying a smooth, childish roundness that R2 had previously overlooked.

He also simply wasn't _doing_ anything, or speaking for that matter. That came as a relief.

As a man with the power of immortality, R2 was easily bored. And while he wasn't bored with Suzaku per se, Suzaku's behavior had quickly gone from being amusing to being aggravating.

Long ago, in the realm of human consciousness known as C's World, R2 had told someone that life was defined not by a beginning and an end, but by the in-between, the accumulation of memories and experiences. Those were the beliefs of Lelouch vi Britannia. As someone who had spent more than his fair share accruing those experiences, R2 believed differently. He saw now how his life could be a curse, and envied C2 for finally being able to depart from it. And he had thought that maybe, as R2 had done for C2, Suzaku could help ease the pain of that curse just a little bit.

It was with a sinking feeling of disappointment that he wondered if he'd invested his hopes in the wrong place. But maybe it was too early to form a proper judgment. Maybe Suzaku could prove to be a valuable chess piece in this game of immortality after all.

Things could certainly be more entertaining if Suzaku would just use his damn geass.

That was one of the things that bothered him the most, R2 decided. When it came to the power, their personalities and beliefs clashed. His memory of the first time he'd used his geass would never leave him. He'd always remember: the way he'd simply said "die," so disdainfully, the manic giggles of the Britannian soldiers as they'd pointed guns to their own heads, the sea of red that followed. How he'd realized, his face stained with the flecks of Britannian blood, that they had actually pulled the trigger. How he'd realized that he now had the power to _matter_ in the grand scheme of things; he had the power to change the great agenda of the world.

Now Suzaku had that power at his fingertips, only to blatantly refuse it. And after R2 had gone to such lengths to forge a full-blown contract, too. It irked him to no end. Preaching about morality at every opportunity…

On the other hand, they were so very similar.

R2 knew as soon as he'd seen that look of hollow terror in Suzaku's eyes that he'd hit some sort of mark. Suzaku was trying to atone – for what, R2 didn't know, and didn't really care to – and he would wander aimlessly with that burden indefinitely.

How very like Lelouch.

He never denied the false accusations. Let them believe that Euphie's death was orchestrated from the start. Let them believe that Shirley's death was wrought by his own hands, that Nunnally hadn't been his reason for everything, and that Emperor Lelouch was nothing more than a cruel, heartless dictator who only cared for his own interests. So long as it paid the price for his actions and the power of Geass, he would allow them to hate him to their heart's content. All of it was part of the contract. It was all for the sake of atonement.

Within Suzaku he saw figments of himself.

They were more alike than R2 would ever care to admit, and that was something he had failed to calculate. It was absolutely infuriating.

* * *

><p>Suzaku regained consciousness slowly and then all at once, like swimming in the general direction of "up" before suddenly breaking through the surface.<p>

There was a moment of alarm during which he noticed that he was not in his own familiar dorm room. That, however, was quickly superseded by the realization that it must be R2's as the day's previous events came creeping back to him. He made a cursory perusal of his surroundings, his eyes finally settling on the immortal himself, who was ensconced at a writing desk with pen in hand and a textbook at his side. The room was deathly silent save for the _skritch-skratch_ of the pen, and Suzaku was not by any means willing to break that silence just yet. So instead he merely watched R2 work, finding it oddly soothing. R2's head bobbed slightly in time to the pen's quick, methodical work. His lashes fluttered as he cast his eyes downward, lean frame hovering over the paper in a profile that was not quite hunched but not perfectly postured either, possessing instead an undeniable intensity and single-mindedness – the perfect picture of a studious worker. Every detail came together, one blending seamlessly into another, like well-oiled cogs in a flawless machine.

Suzaku wondered if R2 liked his world that way, as well: structured, efficient, methodical, predictable. A perfect and perpetuated machine, with no room to be swayed by emotion or morality, inconveniences that were solely reserved for mortals and their humdrum, finite lives. Cold perfection, like a china doll so well-crafted and lovely that it forgot its original purpose and, instead of being a child's companion, was locked behind glass in a beautiful but lonely display.

The pen came to a stop, standing at attention for a moment before resting supine against the surface of the desk.

"I see you're awake."

R2's voice broke whatever reverie Suzaku had been immersed in, and he asked hesitantly, "How long was I out?"

"Long enough to miss the rest of your classes – which you have been fully excused from, by the way. I saw to that myself. It is now eight o'clock in the evening."

"That long, huh?" Suzaku ran a hand tiredly over his eyes, too drained to care as long as the mess of class attendance had been sorted out.

R2 turned the conversation in a different direction by asking carefully, in a neutral tone, "These…episodes. Do they happen often?"

Suzaku banged a fist angrily against the headboard, making R2 flinch. "Look, I know I might not come across as the most…stable of guys. But I'm not some lunatic, and I don't have recurring episodes, or whatever psychobabble you were planning to throw at me."  
>R2 stared back at him and said, completely straight-faced, "Exhibits signs of belligerence and paranoia."<p>

Suzaku cast him a dirty look. "Not funny."

"The reason I ask, Suzaku, is because you are undeniably being plagued by some sort of remorse – perhaps as a result of something you-"

One moment Suzaku was lying atop the bed. In the midst of the next, R2 was lying atop the desk he had been working so intently over, Suzaku holding him captive.

_The way he moved just now was almost inhuman. How the hell did he…_ R2 winced as the edge of the desk bit into his lower back, while Suzaku's weight bore down on him from above. Suzaku had him pinned by the wrists, his grip like a vise, while one leg dug in between his own. He was immobilized, and all he could do was look up at the frightening contortion that Suzaku's face had become.

R2 was completely at his mercy, Suzaku realized. Splayed out beneath him, the immortal appeared uncharacteristically disheveled. His eyes were wide with something akin to outrage, lips parted in silent protest, hair askew and falling haphazardly over his forehead, cheekbones tinted with two vivid splotches of color. His back was arched uncomfortably to accommodate the unyielding surface beneath him. But even in this compromising position, those eyes, lovely and terrible in equal measure, glowered up at him defiantly.

Smirking coyly, R2 asked, "Do you treat all of your men this roughly, Suzaku? Sorry, but that type of thing doesn't really do it for me."

The implication of what R2 had just said shuddered its way down Suzaku's spine and took root in his stomach. "That…that's just sick," he spat.

R2 may have been egging him on – he could be playing right into his hands – but Suzaku still derived an intense satisfaction in removing his hand from one of R2's wrists to instead curl it loosely but suggestively around R2's exposed neck. _You wouldn't_, R2's smoldering eyes taunted.

Suzaku answered out loud: "You can't die. So I don't have to worry about holding back."

R2 raised a skeptical brow. "That doesn't sound like the Suzaku I know."

Suzaku chuckled scornfully. "You don't know much." Then, as though the thought was just occurring to him, "Which brings me to this question: what did you see?"

"You're going to have to be more specific than that," R2 bit back, then hissed as Suzaku applied a small but perceptible amount of pressure against his jugular.

"Those images you fed me weren't all just random. Some of them were memories – memories that you would have had to probe my mind to find. So I'll ask you again: which ones did you see? Just how deeply did you invade my mind? _Answer me!_"

R2 looked him squarely in the eye and replied, "I didn't see anything."

"I don't believe you," Suzaku said flatly.

"And why not? Have I really given you any reason not to trust me?"

"You've given me _every_reason not to trust you!"

R2 sighed. "Suzaku, look at me." After Suzaku grudgingly obeyed, R2 continued, "I simply coaxed forward what you perceived to be your happiest memories. I didn't choose what they were; _you_ did, subconsciously. I played no part in the process, nor did I sift through any of your memories, including the darker ones that you wish to keep hidden. I did not gain any insight into your mind; it is still yours and yours alone."

His face was a picture of earnestness, and Suzaku examined it with narrowed eyes for an indeterminable period of time. Finally, he released R2, and even went so far as to offer him his hand. R2 was tempted to decline, but determined that it would be awfully childish and so allowed Suzaku to help him to his feet. He did, however, rub his neck gingerly, deriving shameless pleasure from the nearly instantaneous guilt that flickered across Suzaku's features.

R2 cleared his throat and said, "Now, if you don't mind, I'll be returning to my schoolwork."

Suzaku tore away his remorseful gaze from R2's neck and stammered, "Right…sorry. I'll just be leaving, then."

"I beg to differ."

"Excuse me?"

"You'll be spending the night here," R2 said matter-of-factly as thought Suzaku needn't even question it. "You're in no fit state for me to allow it any other way."

"But-"

"This is not up for debate, Suzaku," R2 said with a warning tone; his eyes flashed with finality. Then his lips quirked in what could have been a smile, and he added, "Consider it compensation for before, when you so generously shared your own accommodations with me. This is the least I can do to return the favor."

There would be no convincing him otherwise, Suzaku knew. "All right," he said grudgingly, and sighed, resigning himself to his fate.

* * *

><p>There were no nightmares and no dreams. Just a sweet blank darkness that enfolded him in welcoming arms that soon became all-encompassing, refusing to let go. Suzaku didn't fight it, just let it submerge him, deeper and deeper, through multiple realms – where words became pictures, pictures became feelings, feelings became subconscious desires, and deeper still, till the subconscious faded to nothing. He shed off all worldly ties, save one – the thought that this was almost certainly R2's doing. He would have to thank him for it later. He detested that. Not the thanking part – he wasn't <em>that<em> proud, at least he hoped not. No, it was the fact that he had to depend on R2 for this at all. He'd placed the control of his peace of mind in the hands of someone who could very easily abuse it.

* * *

><p>Suzaku awoke remarking to himself that he'd slept better than he had in ages. He was imbued with a pleasantly weightless contentedness for all of five seconds before his eyes wandered over to where R2 stood, whereupon shame wrenched his gut and made him want to vomit.<p>

R2 was observing himself in the mirror with a sort of detached fascination, as though the body that was just barely keeping his interest didn't belong to him.

That body, naked from the waist up, now boasted an array of bruises that peppered his skin like so much ornamental jewelry.

Where the edge of the desk had dug into his back there was now an angry, mottled shade of purple set against pale cream. The same color adorned his thin wrists with a series of sporadic blotches. And, though not as prominent, the faint imprint of a hand could be detected upon his bared neck.

Catching sight of Suzaku in the mirror, R2 looked at him over his shoulder. "You aren't aware of your own strength, it seems," he said, and the smile that followed was darker than the bruises.

Suzaku didn't respond; he could only stare – at those delicate wrists, the sweep of a long neck, and the elegant curve of R2's back, all of it marred by those livid violet splotches like some twisted, sadistic constellation.

It took a herculean amount of effort for him to swallow, much less open his mouth to speak. "R2. I…"

"They're already healing," R2 cut in smoothly. "No use agonizing over something that's already been done."

"But I-"

"You can't mortally wound me, you said it yourself. Nothing you can do can truly harm me."

"But you can't deny that you feel pain, can you?"

R2's eyes lost some of their shine, his voice its self-assurance, becoming quieter as he replied, "Oh yes, I can feel pain." Just as soon as the odd change came, it was gone, with barely enough time for Suzaku to perceive it. "However-"

"Goddamnit, just let me apologize!" Suzaku interceded angrily.

R2 stared in what appeared to be genuine surprise. "You mean to say that you feel actual remorse for harming me?"

"Wha- of course I do!" For all R2 claimed to know about him, Suzaku found R2 to be particularly dense at that moment, and his patience was rapidly dwindling.

R2 continued to stare at him unabashedly. "I offered you multiple opportunities to latch onto an excuse, and yet you still insist on taking the blame." He smiled in an odd, forced way, and didn't quite meet Suzaku's eyes. "But I suppose that's part of the price you're paying as well, isn't it? Condemning yourself whenever possible."

"R2." And, through the severity of his voice alone, he did have the immortal's attention then. "Some lines just aren't meant to be crossed. But you're coming very close. Dangerously close."

And there was that eerie calmness in Suzaku's tone again. An uneasy quiet, like the calm before the storm, hinting at something wilder beneath – in Suzaku's case, an unpredictable grenade. R2 knew enough to leave it intact; he could prod at it, push it to its limit, but he didn't want it to detonate outright.

At least not yet.

And so he said, in as placating a tone as he could, "Why don't I offer a proposition, then?"

Suzaku narrowed his eyes. "The last deal we made hasn't turned out so great." But even so, his curiosity overruled his distrust. "Say it, then," he added grudgingly.

"It's simply this: I will inquire no further about your past. You, in turn, will not force me to divulge anything about my own that I do not wish to."

He was met with a moment of silence before Suzaku said slowly, "I suppose that's straightforward enough not to have any fine print or hidden loopholes." A pause. "Then again, this _is_ you we're talking about…"

R2 rolled his eyes. "Do you accept or not?"

There was another pause, then Suzaku looked R2 intently in the eyes, wearing a smile that didn't quite reach his own, and said, "I do."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

In order to prevent the memories and the longing from becoming unbearable, R2 liked to think of himself and Lelouch vi Britannia as two separate entities. There was before, when he was Zero and then the Emperor, and there was after, when the name and legacy of Zero was passed on to another and Lelouch was no longer needed. They were two separate lifetimes. And so his past – his _real_ past – was safe. From Suzaku, and from anyone else.

It was with those thoughts brewing in his mind that he wandered through the cafeteria. Yes, despite everything, school life went on undeterred; he was grateful for that bit of normalcy.

He could take comfort in routine; for example, the daily occurrence of Gino waving frantically at him from across the room and making a general ass of himself. Next would come the polite smile and decline as he motioned towards Suzaku's table–

But it seemed that today, routine was taking its leave just to spite him. Because first Gino spoke to Anya intently, throwing an occasional glance his way, before motioning towards Suzaku. And then Anya stood up and approached R2...no, this wasn't routine at all.

Jaded dark pink eyes stared at him unblinkingly as Anya said, "Gino would like me to share his brilliant idea with you."

"And what would that be?" R2 asked, somewhat amused.

"Both you and Kururugi could sit with us." She shrugged. "I told him Kururugi wouldn't want to, but he wouldn't listen. He's welcome to, at any rate." Her message delivered, she turned around without further ado and returned to her seat. R2 glanced over at Suzaku, who was sitting as his own table as usual, and decided that that would change.

A few minutes and some insistent cajoling later, R2 had his way, and Suzaku found himself sitting with, in addition to R2, two classmates who he was pretty sure he hadn't exchanged more than five words with previously. He learned that the small pink-haired girl was named Anya, and the tall blond was Gino. He also learned, very quickly, that Anya was rather quiet, while Gino wasted no time in engaging him in conversation.

"So...I heard you're in the military. Is that true?" Gino piped up.

Caught off guard by how straightforward he was, Suzaku stuttered a bit as he answered, "Um, yeah, it's true."

"Wow, that's pretty impressive for someone who's still a high school student! Do you go on special secret missions and stuff? Or is that classified?"

Suzaku chortled despite himself. "Classified? No, I'm not in Black Ops, or anything! Just a regular soldier. But if I was ever called into active duty, I'd be granted special permission from the school to postpone my studies. It's...kind of a special case."

"I'll say! You mean if the army ever called you over, you'd be allowed to just ditch school?"

"Well...yes." What else was there to say?

Gino sure wasn't afraid to ask questions, Suzaku concluded. He couldn't bring himself to be angry, or even annoyed, though. The guy meant well, and really, he was just a ball of energy – Suzaku couldn't dislike him. So he only said, "My mom wants me to complete my education..."

_Would have wanted me to_, he amended in his mind.

R2's head turned almost imperceptibly at the mention of Suzaku's mother. His gazed flickered towards Suzaku questioningly before settling on the tabletop.

Gino nodded sagely before abruptly asking, in a voice that was far too excited for the context of the question, "So I attacked you _right_ now, would you be able to defend yourself and kill me with your bare hands?"

Once again caught off guard, Suzaku responded truthfully, "Yes, I've been taught several ways to kill someone using only my own body." _Though I wouldn't trust myself with that knowledge_.

Gino whistled in awe. "That's…kind of scary, but also kind of amazing!"

"Do you have a Knightmare Frame?" It took Suzaku a moment to realize that, for once, the question was coming not from Gino, but from the petite girl sitting across from him.

"Huh?"

"Do you have a Knightmare Frame?" Anya repeated.

"No, I'm just infantry," Suzaku replied. He then added earnestly, "But I'd like one. I think they're pretty cool."

Anya gave him a small, quiet smile and said, "Me, too." Then almost as an afterthought, "I like designing them. Would you like to see?"

"Okay," he said, disarmed by her sudden enthusiasm.

Anya dug around in her school bag until she located her prize: a chunky, thick-leaf sketchbook with a bright pink cover. She passed it across the table to Suzaku, who took it carefully, aware that she was entrusting this to him and that he couldn't allow any form of harm to come to it.

Within the sketchbook, he discovered, was page after page of painstakingly detailed drawings. Some of the Knightmares were drawn in color, others in black and white; some had wings, others didn't. But all of them had the same amount of minute detail, accompanied by neatly-written notes and extra drawings that included close-ups of specific spots to illustrate the mecha's technical workings.

"This one would be mine," Anya said, pointing to a drawing labeled "Mordred." The Knightmare was short and stocky, and a rich wine-red in color, almost like Anya's eyes. She explained, "Its torso can be rotated and recombined to form a radiant wave cannon." She flipped to another page, labeled "Tristan," one with a more aerodynamic-looking mecha with blues and yellows, and said, "This is Gino's." She looked at Suzaku and R2 in turn and asked, "Would you and Rivalz like one, too?"

"Sure," they responded together.

She flipped thoughtfully through her book for a while until she deemed a design a worthy match. "Rivalz would have the Gawain," she said, and showed R2 before laying it out on the table for all four of them to see. The mecha she was referring to was jet-black with a set of translucent green wings.

"I like the wings," R2 said. "But why a black one?"

She surveyed him blankly. "That's just what I'm feeling."

R2 stared at the drawing again. "Interesting," he murmured. The design reminded him of the Shinkiro. How fitting – a black Knightmare to lead the Black Knights.

Anya flipped through the sketchbook's pages one last time, this time searching for a mecha for Suzaku. One page in particular held her attention, and she hovered over it pensively before once again placing it in the middle of the table. "And this one's for Suzaku." She addressed him in particular and added, "This one doesn't have wings. But I still think it suits you."

Suzaku was looking at a page titled "Lancelot," and a Knightmare right out of his dreams. Gleaming white with glossy golden highlights, it stood proud and majestic, observing him with inquisitive emerald-green eyes that seemed to hold a life of their own.

"That…that's amazing," he said distantly. Then, finding his voice, he declared, "They all are. You're really talented, Anya."

She smiled modestly and looked down at her lap.

"Anya hardly shows anyone her designs," Gino informed Suzaku.

"Well, I like him," Anya said bluntly.

Suzaku listened, strangely touched now as Gino agreed, "Yeah, you're actually a pretty cool guy, Suzaku! And we might have never known it. You…you didn't really _let_ us get to know you up until now."

Suzaku turned that last sentence over in his head, trying to name the odd feeling rising up in his chest, and finally affirmed, "Yeah…I guess I didn't."

* * *

><p>"Remind me again why we're here," Suzaku prompted tiredly.<p>

"Because nearly all of my clothing was rendered unusable along with the rest of my apartment, and I've grown sick of borrowing yours. In short, I am in desperate need of a wardrobe renewal," R2 shot back.

"Allow me to rephrase that: why am _I _here?"

"A truly conscientious shopper always brings a companion, to ensure that a second opinion is readily at hand. Also, free transportation."  
>Suzaku could find no response for those perfectly understandable reasons, and so resigned himself to trailing after R2 through a clothing store of which he couldn't remember the name – only that it sounded important and fancy. Suzaku himself was, for the most part, a man of comfort, not style, and so the entire atmosphere of the place flew right over his head.<p>

"Purple or pink?" R2 asked of him, holding two button-down shirts respectively to his torso.

Suzaku stared blankly.

"Don't give me that!" R2 snapped indignantly. "They're both completely legitimate components of the male color palate! And they each complement my skin tone, as well as my hair and eyes…what now?"

The laughter that Suzaku had struggled to contain bubbled up to the surface of its own accord. "Do you even hear yourself? Who would've known you could be such a _girl_?"

R2 brushed off the teasing, drawing himself up and proclaiming, "In this context I don't find that derogatory. A well-dressed man is one that constitutes himself with authority and class..."

Suzaku snorted unceremoniously, peals of laughter now escaping unbidden from him.

R2 sighed moodily. "I can see that you are going to be of no further use to me in this matter. Fine then. You can just sit there in your cheap, uninspired, mass-produced garments. _I_ have some _real_ clothing to try on."

"_Mass-produced?_" Suzaku repeated, positively guffawing now. "Ouch, that one hit me right in the heart! How will my self-esteem ever recover?"

R2 made a point of storming towards the fitting rooms without looking back, leaving Suzaku with nothing but his own thoughts.

It had been a little over a week since R2 had entered his life without warning, and in that time he was just as confused as ever as to what to make of the immortal. Going by logic alone, he shouldn't have wanted anything to do with him. He'd seen the ugliness behind the handsome face – the ruthlessness, the willingness to take advantage of people, the way he could manipulate the mind. And R2 had subtly avoided all questions about the actual circumstances of their first encounter – Suzaku was no closer to knowing the true motive behind those mercenaries' attack now than he was that day. At any rate, to certain factions, R2 was a wanted man; Suzaku could be housing a criminal for all he knew.

Suzaku could have easily concluded that, by becoming an immortal, assuming the life of a ceaseless wanderer with no earthly ties, R2 had lost his humanity.

Except for the times where R2 had acted all too human. The photograph with the broken frame, the tears, using his abilities to soothe Suzaku's tormented mind. Even now, as trivial as it seemed, the fact that Suzaku could be with R2 casually like this, could laugh at him and poke fun at his ego, felt quite human indeed.

_When it comes down to it, what, exactly, is a human? And does R2 fit the definition?_

Suzaku had been so immersed in his musings that he'd somewhat lost track of the time; it was now, as his questions temporarily dissolved, that he fully observed that R2 had been in the fitting room for quite a while.

Suddenly exasperated, he decided a progress report from R2's end was in order. He wasn't about to skulk around here all day.

He wandered into the hall of changing rooms, an alien landscape of blindingly white walls and too-bright lights, and called out, "R2, are you still there?"

"Here."

"Where?"

"Look down, you imbecile."

Ignoring the slight, Suzaku's eyes scanned the floor until they alighted on a patent-leather shoe gesturing in his general direction from under one of the doors.

"Found you," Suzaku said unnecessarily.

"Congratulations. Now, may I have your opinion on this?"

"I thought you didn't need me to-" The door clicked open, and in a matter of seconds, Suzaku discovered something new about himself. That is, he might – just might – have a thing for well-dressed men.

The outfit R2 wore was a concoction of slim-fitting beige pants – slim _everywhere_ , Suzaku couldn't help but notice – a light pink collared shirt, and a white cropped jacket, finished off with a suave black necktie. R2 showed it all off in a pose worthy of an ancient Greek statue.

"Seriously, do you have to do that?" Suzaku demanded irately.

"Do what?"

"Stand there waiting for people to tell you you're gorgeous when you're obviously aware of it yourself?"

R2 beamed. "Well, it's good to know that I could play for both teams if I wanted to."

"Play for – what's _that_ suppose to mean?!" Suzaku's face flushed in indignation.

"Nothing, nothing. Now, if you'll excuse me, I still have twelve more items to try on."

Suzaku groaned despairingly and flopped back onto a conveniently located chair, praying that the gods would take mercy on him soon.

* * *

><p>They exited the outlet carrying a hefty armful of bags each, Suzaku harboring the niggling suspicion that he'd been unfairly landed with the larger, heavier portion. As they navigated the sidewalk, approaching Suzaku's parked motorcycle, he decided to voice a question he'd been keeping to himself for a while, with a lingering sense of dread at what the answer could be.<p>

"R2, I know this is kind of personal, but…where is all of this money coming from? You have that larger dorm at Ashford, two beds and everything, and you must've spent a small fortune just now…"

"Would you really like to know?" R2 inquired with a touch of humor.

Suzaku nodded, even as he braced himself for the worst.

"Gambling," R2 answered matter-of-factly, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Suzaku choked a bit on his own words. "Seriously?"

R2 observed his reaction and said mildly, "You took that rather well, actually. No lecture on morality, this time?"

"Well, I figured there was nothing more to say at this point," he replied wryly. "Just be careful, though. Can you at least do that much?"

"Of cour-" R2 stopped speaking mid-sentence. They both heard the muffled shout, and they both saw the flutter of a skirt disappear down a side alley.

"That – that woman's being mugged!" As soon as the realization set in, Suzaku dropped his bags and took off along the same path.

"Suzaku!" _Goddamnit, you don't just blindly charge into danger like that!_ R2 scooped up the unwieldy bags and shuffled after him to the best of his ability, grumbling to himself all the while.

Suzaku sprinted into the alleyway to find the woman, dressed in a sharp business suit that betrayed her higher class, pinned to the wall by two scruffy-looking men. A third hovered over her as she kicked and struggled, searching for her wallet. And a fourth, entrusted with standing guard, spotted Suzaku at that moment and alerted his comrades.

The man scarcely had time to finish before he received a sharp blow to the gut, followed by a knee to the crotch, sending him sprawling to the ground. The thug who was searching the woman was delivered a swift roundhouse kick to the head; he crumpled on the spot. The remaining two, now faced with a new challenger, abandoned their original prize to square off against Suzaku. The woman, suddenly free, stared at Suzaku with hollow, frightened eyes.

"Run!" he shouted at her. Breaking out of her shell-shocked trance, she mouthed a "Thank you" and then hastily complied, fleeing down to the other side of the alley, which opened up into a public street where she could hide in the safety of numbers.

Suzaku couldn't run yet, though. He still had two lowlifes to deal with.

They whipped out switchblades and howled savagely as they charged towards him. At the last possible moment he ducked low to the ground, braced his weight on his hands, and swept them both off their feet with his own legs, sending them tumbling to the ground. He grasped one man's knife hand and whipped it behind his back in one fluid and effective motion, tugging it upward just enough for the knife to slip out of his grip. Suzaku gave the other thug a shove from behind so that he plowed straight into the other. In that moment of chaos he heard the second knife fall. Now disarmed, the two muggers could only gape in fear as Suzaku grasped them both by the hair; the last thing they saw was the brick wall that their heads collided with before being knocked out cold.

Satisfied, Suzaku turned to make his escape – only to find that his way was blocked by the first thug he'd attacked. Not only was he up again; he also had a defenseless R2 firmly in his grasp. The immortal's arms were twisted behind him, his head tugged roughly backwards to reveal a flash of pale throat, up to which a cruel-looking blade was held.

"This guy charged in thinking he could help you. Fat lot of good that did you both, eh?" He chuckled mirthlessly. "He looks pretty well-dressed, himself. Reckon he's got much loot on him?"

"Let him go," Suzaku ordered.

"Or what? You gonna play the hero again? You're nothing but Eleven scum. And you'll walk away now and pretend nothing's up, if you know what's good for you."

R2 hissed as the blade teased against his neck, opening up a thin vermillion sliver.

And R2 may have been an immortal, something beyond human, but that was still blood trickling from where the knife dug into his throat; blood, warm and pulsing and _alive_, just like that of any human being. Suzaku's mind flashed back to something R2 had said a few days ago: "Oh, yes, I can feel pain." And that was when emotion took over.

He wasn't going to let anyone else bleed because of him.

From there, he was overcome with a sensation that he thought he'd sworn to forsake: that odd pressure behind his eye, and the feeling of projecting his consciousness mentally onto another. It was over in scarcely a heartbeat.

The thug was now staring at Suzaku with something akin to worship. Suzaku swallowed his revulsion and requested politely, "Would you be so kind as to let that man go?"

The mugger blinked in confusion. "But…no…I wanted…"

"Please," Suzaku said, more insistently. "Please…do it for me. It would mean the world to me if you did."

The man sucked in a breath, and then sighed. "All right," he said grudgingly. "For you, y'hear? No one else. Just you."

"Of course," Suzaku said sweetly, even as every fiber of his being screamed in disgust.

R2 was released, but he didn't move, as if not to upset the fragile calm Suzaku had created. He observed Suzaku with slowly dawning incredulity.

"Thank you so much," Suzaku said, his voice almost overly saccharine. "Now please…if you really care about me, do me one more favor."

"Anything," the thug murmured, now thoroughly wrapped in Suzaku's spell.

"Please…don't steal anymore. Don't mug, or hurt others anymore. It breaks my heart when you do that. Please tell this to your companions as well."

Consternation passed again over the man's face, as though the order went against his very nature. But it soon passed, and he said, with a leering smile that made Suzaku's insides cringe and squirm, "As you wish, love."

* * *

><p>Suzaku mounted his motorcycle, R2 positioning himself behind him with bags in tow.<p>

He didn't want to meet R2's eyes, or hear anything he had to say. But that didn't stop R2 from saying quietly, "You're a good person, Suzaku."

Suzaku kept his gaze focused straight ahead as he started the engine.

"Not that good."

They drove away in silence. Neither of them noticed the figure lurking in the shadows, watching them from a distance.

His grin was feral as he murmured, "Target acquired."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>: I cannot say it enough: I am eternally grateful to all of my fantastic readers. Ever since this story was first posted - more than a year ago now (Holy crap when did that happen?!) - you guys have been kind faithful and supportive and just plain awesome. Thank you to the readers who've been there from the start, staying with me through all those rough patches in between then and now (I'm sure you all know what I'm talking about.) And thank you to all of you newcoming readers. You are just as important. You keep this story from stagnating; you help it grow and thrive. The fact that I see my fic alive and well with a continuously expanding readership is reason in itself to keep going. All of you deserve the best. And so, while this is just another rough patch that I'm sure all of you will stay for until its end, it still pains me to say that this is probably the last chapter you'll see from me for a while. The reason being that I am now a senior in high school. For those of you who've gone through it, you'll most likely agree with what I'm about to say; for those of you who aren't there yet, I'm sorry that I have to break it to you: despite the aura of fun and revelry and off-the-wall partying that may permeate the idea of senior year, the truth is that, frankly, it sucks. I'm up to my ears right now in college essays and college applications and college interest meetings and college tours and anything-that-has-the-word-college-in-it, all the while juggling the coursework of four AP classes. And so, unfortunately, this story isn't one of my priorities right now.

I'd call this a hiatus, but that word has such a sense of doom and gloom to it. Let's call it a temporary leave instead. (Are they the same thing? I don't care.) Because it's far from over. I will be back. And when I am, it'll probably be when I know where I'm going and what I want to do with my future. Probably a more peaceful state of mind for writing, no?

Keep your eyes peeled for that new chapter alert. It will come. Maybe sooner than you or I would think. Who knows? I don't know much about anything right now. It makes for a pretty high stress level. But, in its own twisted, chaotic way, it's kind of beautiful.

My heart goes out to all the seniors who are reading this. Good luck to you all.

And so, until next time, whenever that may be,

Byronic Heroine ^-^


End file.
